


n-city

by taeminki



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and All That Good Stuff, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminki/pseuds/taeminki
Summary: n-city(n.) a place in which abby (*author) publishes nct fics (that are completely unrelated) that she got inspiration for from nct's songs[a/n] marked complete because the chapters are in no way related, but this fic will still be updated from time to time with new ficlets





	1. The 7th Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _open your eyes._  
>  Taeyong only needed a taste to know what Ten was feeling.  
> [au]: synaesthesia  
> ♡ ten and taeyong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _synaesthesia (n.)_  
>  the production of a sense impression relating to one sense or part of the body by stimulation of another sense or part of the body  
> (ex. someone with synaesthesia will be able to hear or taste colors.)

"I can taste your heart beating," Taeyong muttered. Ten was testing him again; his eyes were silenced by a piece of black fabric; it felt heavy, like iron over his senses, but Taeyong didn't mind it. In fact, he kind of liked it. He enjoyed the sensation of losing one sense, given that he had two extra ones.

"Does it taste good?" Ten asked, his voice a whisper above Taeyong's belly button. He had just shifted from Taeyong's mouth to his torso-- hands moving from Taeyong's tied wrists to his freed hips. Taeyong's respose was nothing more than a lick of his lips and a request of "Kiss me again," but Ten didn't follow through. He remained silent, kissing down Taeyong's stomach. Taeyong went silent, too, though he gripped at the black fabric that lay across his hands, tying both of his wrists to the headboard.

"I can practically hear you thinking," Taeyong said. Ten dragged his nails over Taeyong's hips, "Funny. You're _supposed_  to hear thoughts."

"I hear and see things like normal people too, you know." Taeyong said. He dragged his fingers over the black fabric that was drawn across his fingers anyway, copying Ten's rough movements. He curled his toes for a moment and then let himself go lax, despite the fact that Ten was now dragging rough fingernails over his thighs. The silence gave Taeyong a chance to continue, "You're thinking about which way to torture me next, right? Ice. Heat. We bought candles the other day, baby."

"So," Ten started, slowly crawling up Taeyong's body. "You have a sense for my feelings--" Ten kissed Taeyong's chest, just beneath his nipple-- "And you can taste my heartbeat and smell my love--" just above, now-- " _and_  you can read my thoughts--" and then it was another taste of his heartbeat for Taeyong. When he pulled back, he gently sat against Taeyong's stomach, "You know, I'm starting to think you're just not human."

"Would it scare you if I wasn't?" Taeyong wondered softly, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible so he didn't scare Ten. The silence worried him for a moment, but he could feel _and_  smell the relaxation. Ten was just pondering what to say-- "The only thing I would be worried about was whether or not you really felt emotion... whether or not you really loved me."

"If my hands weren't tied, I'd hold you." Taeyong thought he should mention, because the sadness in Ten's voice-- the _whether or not you really loved me_  hurt Taeyong. Hurt-- pain-- a human feeling. Of course Taeyong was human; he gripped the fabric on his wrists and wished he could grip Ten's fingers; he told Ten "Even if I wasn't human, I would love you," and Ten dragged his palms up Taeyong's arms and slid his fingers through Taeyong's, catching some fabric between their hands. Again, Ten kissed Taeyong, but Taeyong wasn't focused on the taste of his heartbeat; he was focused on the slight taste of fear.

"I'm human, and I love you." Taeyong said, promised. He chased Ten's lips, because he could at least hold him with a kiss if not his arms, but Ten moved too far away. Taeyong licked his bottom lip, tasting the remnants of Ten's last heartbeat. He thought, for a moment, about hearts beating. He thought about how one beat happened and then it was gone forever. Beat--done. But then another one came. Beat--done. Beat--done. Beat--done. He thought about how hard the heart worked, and how strong it was. Hearts must have been the strong organ in the body, and yet it was the easiest to break-- and Taeyong could feel it. He could taste it and he could smell it; Ten didn't like the thought of Taeyong not loving him. It was breaking his heart.

"I love you." Taeyong said, feeling a panic rise in his own heart. Ten's heart couldn't break; Taeyong would never forgive himself. Taeyong squeezed Ten's fingers, "I love you. Kiss me," and that brought Ten's lips to his own, and Taeyong kissed him desperately, and he pulled at his restraints, and he wished to hold Ten and feel his heartbeat and taste it and he wished he didn't still taste a little bit of blue on Ten's heart, like the red love was being tainted by blue sadness.

"I love you. I love you," Taeyong promised and promised, and Ten smiled and his heart tasted red and Taeyong sighed in relief. He stopped gripping Ten's hands so tight. Ten wondered, "Did you taste my emotion?" and Taeyong gulped, and nodded, "It scared me."

"I can tell." Ten laughed. He pulled his hands from Taeyong's and slid them over his chest. "I wasn't sad, you know. I made myself sad on purpose-- made myself imagine you leaving me. I wanted to know if you could actually taste my sadness.... You're good, hyung."

"I just have a sense-- for you, for your feelings, for the taste of your heart." Taeyong said. Again, his wrists pulled the headboard with a desperation to touch Ten, but he was still tied, so Taeyong filled the space between them with words instead, "I'll always know when you're angry, or sad, or anything else. They all taste different-- your emotions.

"I imagine, one day, when I ask you to marry me, and your happiness reaches its peak, that it will taste even more like heaven when I kiss you."

Ten was silent for a long, long time. Taeyong wasn't worried. Ten was just pondering-- pondering and pondering. Taeyong could hear his smile; he could smell the blush about his cheeks. Taeyong smiled himself-- and then Ten asked, "Does anger taste foul?"

"No. It's more, like... spicy, actually." Taeyong said, and that made Ten laugh-- laugh and curl his fingers against Taeyong's bare chest-- " _Spicy?_  That's funny."

"Isn't it?" Taeyong asked. Their laughter died down after some time; Ten pressed forward after letting his fingers crawl up and down Taeyong's chest. His breath ghosted over Taeyong's lips, and Taeyong felt it. He felt what Ten was feeling; he almost knew what he would say-- "What does this taste like?" and then he pressed forward, and he gave Taeyong a proper question to answer. The kiss was long and sensual-- one hand in Taeyong's hair the other resting on his neck, occasionally moving down and back up his shoulder. His fingers tapped across Taeyong's collar bones once, and Taeyong's heart fluttered in the same way. He gripped the black fabric over his wrists and wished he could grip Ten's fingers or hips instead; but he focused in on the taste of Ten's emotion and it was _heavenly_ ; it curled his toes and arched his back and he nearly tore the fabric with his desire to touch.

"If you untie me, I can help you with that." Taeyong told him, his fingers a little more lax with the taste gone. His toes went slack and his body sank back into the sheets. Ten worked on getting the blindfold off, asking, "What did it taste like, hyung?"

Taeyong's eyes reacted to the light in a way that made Ten lose his breath. Taeyong didn't squint a bit; he looked straight at Ten and smirked a little bit, "It tasted like you _want me_."


	2. Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _can't live without_....  
>  Moon Taeil was two different things: M for the moon, and T for a tree.  
> [au]: hanahaki  
> ♡ taeil, doyoung, and jaehyun

Moon Taeil was a tree. He was a very beautiful tree--a weeping willow with pretty white flowers and a strong base. His friends loved to lean against his trunk; they found him comforting, and they loved the flowers that fell from his hair and they loved that they could curl up and read or do homework in his shade. Every once in a while, a shower of flowers would fall from Taeil's stomach--an odd thing, because flowers didn't usually come from the trunk of a tree. They would shoot from his stomach like rockets when a certain person leaned against his base. Of course, that person never saw. That person fell asleep or closed his eyes; and Taeil would throw up his flowers and hide them away before Kim Dongyoung could open his eyes again.

"Your metaphors are insane--shouldn't you consider poetry over journalism?" Yoonoh asked. He was sitting against Taeil's base, with his head resting comfortably against a bed of leaves at Taeil's stomach. Taeil shook the metaphors from his mind when Yoonoh looked up; he put himself back on his couch, with Yoonoh laying with him, head against his stomach, pretty jacket balled up beneath his head to act as a pillow. Yoonoh had Taeil's journal in his hands, flipping through the pages, reading through the metaphors. Taeil shrugged.

"I'm not a poet. I couldn't write poetry to save my life." Taeil said, and he said it as a joke, blowing off the metaphors that lay within Yoonoh's palms. He stole the book back, and he flipped through a few pages before closing it, placing it against Yoonoh's chest. He left his hand there-- lazy. A hum came from within Yoonoh's chest, sounding out against Taeil's arm, "I think you should try, hyung. You're good at writing."

"Thank you." Taeil muttered. He had nothing to say about poetry; he wouldn't reject the idea, but he definitely wouldn't agree to it, either. He'd tried to write a poem once before, and it had ended up with twelve white flower petals all over his notebook. They were very sudden, and they were the start of his disease-- his sickness. Three months back, Taeil had begun to throw up flowers. He wasn't sure what it meant until the third time, when Yoonoh saw one of the petals.

"What is this, hyung?" He had asked, picking a petal from Taeil's notebook. Taeil hadn't opened the thing in a week; he wanted to forget about the stupid petals. It concerned him, sure. Taeil wasn't really a tree, and even then, flower petals weren't supposed to come from the stomach of a tree. Taeil had held his palm out, and Yoonoh gave him both the petal and his own hand. Taeil had a feeling, looking back on it, that Yoonoh knew--even before Taeil said anything. Yoonoh and Taeil both were all for skinship, but Yoonoh wouldn't hold Taeil's hand unless he knew something was up. So, when Taeil told him what exactly had happened, what he had researched, the flower petal lay between both of their palms, and Yoonoh likely took in the information as a confirmation rather than a surprise.

Flash-forward; and Taeil opened up the notebook he had lay against Yoonoh's chest. He turned the cover open, and there was the petal. Somehow, it still looked the same as it had; which surprised Taeil but didn't really phase him. The petal came from his stomach, which _wasn't supposed to happen_ \-- the fact that it was healthy was just another question that Taeil didn't need an answer to.

"I wonder why they're white." Yoonoh said. Taeil didn't answer right away, and instead flipped a few pages-- past the poem that made him throw up, before the metaphor about him being a tree. There was a list of different flowers and what they meant, with white at the bottom--because that was the last thing he'd wanted to know at the time.

"White flowers can mean a variety of things," Taeil said, reading from his journal. Yoonoh looked up, glanced at the book, and listened, "In most cases, white flowers represent purity. They represent honesty, at other times, and innocence, at most. They're elegant; and, often, they are a mix of these things. All in all, they're a symbol of perfection in the most innocent of ways."

"Perfection in the most innocent of ways." Yoonoh repeated. He shifted a bit, as he had been laying in one position for too long, and his voice was distracted as he asked, "Does that describe your love for him--or _him?_ "

"Love," Taeil muttered. He closed the journal, dropped it on the floor this time, "My love for him is innocent and pure--it's perfect and honest. It's just not reciprocated."

"I wondered," Yoonoh said, and he finally sat up, his gaze matching Taeil's, "Because... I love him, too.... Why don't I have it, too? Why don't I throw up petals, too?"

"He might love you." Taeil said. He stretched a bit, his legs numb from having Yoonoh against them for so long. He decided to sit up, to give himself and Yoonoh more room to sit comfortably. Yoonoh pulled his legs up on the couch, facing Taeil completely. He leaned against the back of the couch, with his head tilted, lazily resting. Taeil sat with his legs crossed, his back against the arm of the couch-- "I might love him more. I might have loved him longer. I don't know."

"I did some research." Yoonoh said. _Me, too_ , Taeil thought, but Yoonoh was always so much better at finding information than Taeil was (funny, because Taeil was the journalist)-- "I read that the reason you throw up _petals_  is because a flower has grown inside of you. It _blossomed_ , your love, and it turned into a flower. You fell in love really slow, but to you, it happened all at once. The flower is born from that."

 _Makes sense. More sense than I could make out of it_ , Taeil thought. Yoonoh continued, "It also has to do with the fact that you love him so much, you're suffocated. You're kind of-- you're choking on love, you know? You love him so much that it hurts... right?"

"Yes." Taeil didn't hesitate to answer. Yoonoh gave a small smile; Taeil couldn't read what it meant. He didn't have too much time, anyway, as Yoonoh dropped his gaze and continued to speak, words taking over the place of his smile, "The only two ways to cure the disease is to have surgery to remove it-- and the feelings that come with it-- or to have him reciprocate your feelings. The latter is really, _really_  rare, but the former is really, really dangerous. If he won't love you, too, or if you don't get surgery, the flower will build up and up-- you'll throw up more and more--and, eventually, the petals will suffocate you."

Taeil knew that. He didn't see the connection between suffocating love and suffocating death, but his eyes were much more open, now.

"So, I think the reason you have it and I don't is because you love him more. You love him so much that it hurts, and I don't. And maybe he does love me, too... and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Yoonoh said, his voice getting softer at the end. Taeil didn't know what to say. He couldn't say it's okay, even though it was. He couldn't say don't worry about it, because Taeil himself was worried. So he scoot closer to Yoonoh, and he hugged him, and they shared some silent moments.

"You're my best friend. Don't forget that, okay?" Taeil asked. He wasn't good at showing his feelings; but he'd gotten better since he started throwing them up, "I may love Dongyoung so much that I suffocate, but I love you, too."

"Would you ever get the surgery, hyung?" Yoonoh asked. Taeil had thought about it before; and he thought about it now. Removing the flower meant removing the feelings. Removing the flower meant cutting Taeil open, and that was a difficult thing to recover from. It would leave a scar, and Taeil would always remember that he used to love someone he couldn't love anymore. Taeil didn't want that kind of ache in his heart--or mind, perhaps, because it wouldn't hurt his love anymore. Taeil didn't want to fall in love with someone else. He didn't want to forget how beautiful it was to love Kim Dongyoung. He didn't want to forget how the younger made him feel. He didn't want to forget any of it.

"Maybe," Taeil said, just to ease Yoonoh's mind. (The answer was no, but a white lie didn't hurt anyone; it was white petals that would.)

  
**\- + -**

  
_The rough thing about Kim Dongyoung is the fact that he's such a free spirit-- wouldn't ask anyone to go on a road trip with him, wouldn't tell anyone he's going to China or learning a new language, wouldn't ask someone to hold his hand while he gets a tattoo.... He doesn't need anybody_.

Taeil hadn't seen Dongyoung in two weeks, because-- well-- Dongyoung went on a road trip for three days before he flew to China, and he returned with a new tattoo on his forearm. It was a crescent moon with the word _Moon_  beneath it-- in Chinese. Taeil only knew that because Dongyoung told him what it meant; and Taeil asked how he knew -- what if it said something totally different? _Don't just trust a tattoo artist, Dongyoung_ \-- and Dongyoung decided to finally mention that he'd been studying Chinese for _three and a half years_.

"I got it because of you, hyung. Moon Taeil. _Moon_ , in English, means the same thing." Dongyoung said. He pressed his fingers down on the crescent moon and smiled happily, "I really like it, hyung. Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." Taeil said. He felt a bubbling in his stomach-- uncomfortable by how sick he felt-- but he never actually threw up around Dongyoung. He didn't feel the urge to actually let it out until Dongyoung was gone. He was safe when Dongyoung was around.

"I wish my name had some pretty meaning like that. _Moon_  is pretty-- it's the center of all the stars. Kim doesn't mean anything special like that." Dongyoung said. An idea popped into Taeil's mind at the moment, and he wrote it down on his bucket list-- _I think I want a tattoo. A flower. I want to name it Kim_.

"A tattoo," Yoonoh echoed, looking down Taeil's bucket list. He had an eyebrow raised, and Taeil shrugged, "Why not?" and Yoonoh laughed softly, "You're really whipped for him, you know?" and Taeil shrugged again, "You are, too," and Yoonoh nodded, "Fair enough."

On the day that Taeil made plans to get his flower tattooed, he got a call-- _"We need you to go across country for a story--"_  and Taeil had to cancel and pack up his bags. He was supposed to leave in three days-- which meant, really, he _could_  get the tattoo, but he wanted to prepare. He wanted to practice. He watched a few videos and took notes; he wrote a few pieces, stressed himself out for two days straight. He finally called Yoonoh after he'd taken a power nap halfway through day three-- seventeen hours before he had to leave.

"Do you want to go on a trip with me?" Taeil asked as he was shoving more things into his bag-- _how the hell did I forget underwear?_  Yoonoh agreed before he even asked where they were going.

"Other side of Korea-- up near North. I have a story to write." Taeil said. Yoonoh hummed. He sounded sleepy, like he'd just taken a nap, too. (When Taeil looked at the clock, he realized that it was four in the morning. Oops--), "Is Dongyoung-hyung going?"

"I haven't asked him yet." Taeil said. He zipped up his bag; he _would_  take a suitcase, but he was going to take a train instead of a plane. Less money; more scenery. Yoonoh hummed again; he wasn't very talkative when he was sleepy. Taeil thought he should let him sleep, have this conversation when Yoonoh had more words-- "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll call you in a few hours."

"Love you, hyung," Yoonoh muttered, and he stayed on the line long enough to hear Taeil said "I love you, too."

Taeil decided to message Dongyoung, now that he knew the time. He sent him a simple, quick text of _Want to go on an adventure with me?_  even though it wasn't really an adventure. Dongyoung would call it that, though. He called any trip an adventure-- "Any trip is an exciting experience!" and Taeil would tell him there was more to the definition of adventure than _an exciting experience_ , but Dongyoung would say "It's close enough, hyung," and Taeil wouldn't argue with him anymore. (There was something special about going on adventures with Dongyoung, anyhow.)

Taeil went on to finish packing his bag, to purchase a second train ticket. There weren't many spots taken up on the train; actually, the ride was going to be very silent. Just the two of them. Maybe three. Taeil checked his phone, surprised to see a few new messages from Dongyoung. It was only half past four in the morning; why was he up?

 _I love the smell of adventure_ , Dongyoung had said, and Taeil smiled.

 _I'd love to. Call me and tell me what we're doing_.

Taeil called Dongyoung. Dongyoung picked up right away, "I heard adventure and I'm craving it. Where are we going?"

"We-- me, you, and Yoonoh-- are going up North. I have a story to write." Taeil said. Dongyoung hated it up there-- said it was filled with rude people and a bad aura. But he sounded excited with his next words, "A story? What kind of story?"

"For my paper. I can't say much about it yet, I'm sorry." Taeil said, and Dongyoung hummed, "I love when you're mysterious. Makes me want to bug you until you tell me.... But I won't. Is it fun to work for the paper?"

"Sometimes. It's tiring, too. I've been awake for about two days straight." Taeil laughed away the tension in his shoulders. He rubbed his heavy eyes; he felt so much more tired with Dongyoung on the phone. His voice was soothing; his laugh was beautiful. Taeil thought about the tattoo, briefly. He still really wanted to get it.

"You should sleep, hyung. Idiot--why call me?" Dongyoung asked, and Taeil shrugged, even if Dongyoung couldn't see him, "You wanted me to."

"Idiot-hyung," Dongyoung said quietly, laughing. Taeil wondered how he could sound so pretty over the phone; no one sounded so good in a phone call. Taeil doubted if he sounded half as beautiful talking face-to-face as Dongyoung would over a static-y, choppy call. Taeil wanted to fall asleep to the sound of Dongyoung's voice. Maybe that was a good idea. Maybe they should fall asleep to each other tonight.

"I couldn't sleep, so I was watching the moon from my window." Dongyoung said. Taeil didn't realize how quiet he had been, how much he had zoned out. He blinked himself back to reality, and he asked, "What?" and Dongyoung repeated, "I couldn't sleep, so I was watching the moon from my window--" and he added more to the statements-- "It's so pretty, hyung. I'm jealous of your name."

"Your name is pretty, too. _Kim_  might not mean much, but _Dongyoung_  means the world to me." Taeil said; and he had those moments where he just spat out whatever was in his mind, and he wanted to choke himself for it. The petals did, too; he felt them growl in his stomach, crawl against his chest, poke out of the back of his throat. Taeil swallowed heavily-- enough that Dongyoung could probably hear, especially with him being so silent. But then he laughed--a pretty laugh, a fond laugh, "I love you, hyung."

"Me, too." Taeil said; and he wondered, again--so, so much wonder--why he could say _I love you_  to Yoonoh and not to Dongyoung. He supposed he loved Dongyoung too much. He supposed he didn't really want to say it. He supposed he didn't want to risk throwing up. He supposed he should stop thinking so much, because he was missing what Dongyoung was saying "--the stars surround it. They're doing a dance for the moon. I think you should have stars, hyung."

"I have you. Yoonoh. You're my stars." Taeil said. He thought, rather, he should say _You're my flowers_ , because he was a tree and he had pretty flowers at his base, but he supposed he could be a moon, too. If Dongyoung said he was a moon-- hell, he was a moon.

"You're cute, hyung." Dongyoung said. Taeil smiled. He pulled himself up and climbed into bed. He was sleepy, and he really wanted to fall asleep with Dongyoung tonight. He flicked off his lamp, left his journal open and his suitcase incomplete. Dongyoung continued to speak as Taeil was settling, "Is the trip going to be long? We're going by train, right?"

"Yes," Taeil said. All of his friends knew that he hated to travel by air; he loved trains, and he would travel by train or car for the rest of his life. Dongyoung hummed, "Fun--I love trains. Traveling with you is the best, hyung."

"I like to travel with you, too," Taeil said, his voice a sleepy mutter as his eyes slipped shut. Dongyoung said something, but only the sentence after that caught Taeil's ear, "Are you tired, hyung? Falling asleep on me?"

"Sorry," Taeil muttered after a beat. He rubbed his eyes, and he felt even more at ease when Dongyoung laughed, "It's okay, hyung. I'll sing to you. Do you want me to sing for you?"

"I love your voice," was Taeil's answer. Dongyoung sang him a love song about the stars and the moon-- about the oceans and the rivers-- about the rain and the sunshine. Taeil didn't want to fall asleep-- didn't want to miss out on listening to Dongyoung's voice-- but he knew, even if he slept, he would remember Dongyoung's voice somewhere in the back of his mind, and he'd always thought storing love somewhere he wouldn't _really_  remember it was more special than it being present in his direct memory.

(He let himself sleep easy that night.)

  
**\- + -**

  
"Adventure, adventure--I wish it wasn't so cold," Dongyoung laughed. He was dressed well for the weather-- simple jeans with a simple shirt, a pretty jacket and a scarf-- a pretty beanie and some gloves. He looked like a model; but he always looked like a model. (Especially to Taeil--and to Yoonoh, because Yoonoh loved him, too, Taeil remembered.)

"Hugs always make you warm. You should ask for them more often," Yoonoh said; and he wrapped his arms around Dongyoung in the process. He caught Taeil's eye for a moment, and he made a move like he was going to pull away; but he stopped, and Taeil smiled at him-- a genuine smile that said _don't stop loving him just because I might love him more_ , and Yoonoh smiled back. (Taeil couldn't read Yoonoh's happiness.)

"You give the best hugs," Dongyoung said, leaning back against Yoonoh. He closed his eyes, and Taeil thought he looked beautiful. And Taeil thought that was strange; Taeil thought that was heart-breaking. Dongyoung was in another man's arms, looking beautiful and comfortable, and Taeil watched from the sidelines. He felt a churn in his stomach, and he passed the tickets to Yoonoh, "I-- I'll be right back," and he escaped the small crowd and he escaped the beauty of Dongyoung and Yoonoh to find a bathroom and throw up in one of the toilets-- pretty white flowers floating in dirty, public water.

Yoonoh found him three minutes later.

"Dongyoung is _really_   worried." Yoonoh said, knocking on the stall--the only one that was closed. He leaned against it, "I am, too. Are you okay, hyung?"

"I'm fine. I'm sorry." Taeil said. He opened the stall, and Yoonoh smiled. He reached out, smoothed his hands through Taeil's hair. "I'm sorry, hyung. I won't do that again."

"Please don't. You feel guilty for loving him and you shouldn't. You shouldn't be scared to hug him or hold him." Taeil said. He brushed off his front, because petals often stuck to his clothes. Yoonoh plucked one from his shoulder--how it had even gotten there, Taeil had no idea. Yoonoh pulled Taeil's phone from his pocket, popped off his clear case and lay the flower petal against it. He put Taeil's phone back in the case; and now Taeil had a flower petal to decorate his case. Taeil raised an eyebrow. Yoonoh smiled, waved the phone a couple times in a way to highlight it-- "Now you have a memory. You should make a scrap book of your petals--little captions. _That one time Yoonoh was being an asshole when we were all about to board a train and I had to run away and throw up in a toilet some old, hairy many probably put his ass on_."

"You're mean to yourself." Taeil chuckled. He took his phone back, put it in his pocket. He washed his hands even though he hadn't touched anything, and he escaped the bathroom with Yoonoh. They held each other's hands as they were making their way back to Dongyoung. Dongyoung was looking around, his wide eyes full of worry. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked lost. He brightened when he saw Yoonoh and Taeil, and he held his arms out for Taeil, pulled him in, "Are you okay? Did you get sick?"

"A bit. I'm alright now." Taeil said. His heart was settling; Dongyoung's chest was warm; his arms were warm. Taeil tucked his own arms rather tight around the younger male, and he let himself have a few moments of blissful peace until he remembered Yoonoh; and he'd told Yoonoh not to feel guilty for being in love with Dongyoung, but Taeil found himself feeling the same way, and Taeil pulled away. His heart was going crazy, but the flower was settled, at least.

"We shouldn't be in the cold for too long, then. I hope the train comes soon-- what time is it, hyung?" Dongyoung asked. Taeil pulled out his phone without thinking about it, checked the time-- "1:58," and Dongyoung frowned, carefully moved one of Taeil's fingers, "What's that, hyung? Where did you get a petal?"

Taeil glanced at Yoonoh. Yoonoh looked right back, his eyes wide, teary from the wind. Taeil looked back at Dongyoung. Dongyoung looked back at Yoonoh when the younger blinked, and then he turned to Taeil again, and Taeil stuttered out an excuse-- "It's just-- just-- a petal I found. It was pretty, so...."

"Is it real?" Dongyoung asked, and Taeil gulped, "Y-yeah...."

"Can I see?" Dongyoung asked, and Taeil handed his phone over, numb. Dongyoung carefully took the case off, had Taeil hold it for him, and examined the petal. Dongyoung had always been particularly fascinated by flowers. Flowers, and the galaxy. Something simple in nature, and something miraculous in space. Dongyoung smiled at the petal, "It's pretty, hyung. Where did you find it?"

"Outside," Taeil said-- a simple answer that came to mind too quick. Dongyoung looked past the flower to Taeil. Taeil cleared his throat, "I was outside a flower shop. Uh-- it was just... against the window. It was pretty, so I took it. I-I thought of you...."

Taeil needed to stop blurting whatever came to mind.

"So sweet, hyung." Dongyoung said. He put the petal back, and he put Taeil's phone back in his case. He glanced past Taeil, made a sound-- "Oh! Our train is here, hyung. Come on-- Yoonoh, come--" and Taeil just watched for a numb moment as Dongyoung was picking up his bag, as Yoonoh was doing the same. He watched Dongyoung turn to say something to Yoonoh as they both bent to pick up their bags, watched him laugh. He was amazed and in love for another moment, and then he snapped back to reality-- blinked and told himself _get on your train, idiot_ , and then he grabbed his back, too, and he made sure he had his ticket, and they all got on the train together, and they all settled together.

"It's still cold." Dongyoung said, but he had a smile on his face. He always had a smile on his face. He was always happy; he was always beautiful. His eyes sparkled and his fingers rubbed together, and he looked at Taeil and Yoonoh-- across from him, sitting together so they didn't hurt each other-- didn't have to watch the other sit with Dongyoung. (Taeil thought the two of them got jealous over the dumbest little things; but Taeil also thought that's just what came with being so, so, _so_  in love with someone for so, so, _so_ long.)

"You get cold easily." Yoonoh said. Dongyoung shot him a little glare, "And you're a freak of nature. You never get cold-- that's not fair."

Yoonoh smiled, shrugged, "I'm special," and Dongyoung huffed softly. He looked at Taeil, "Are you cold, hyung?" and he huffed again when Taeil shook his head, "I'm _freezing_. Maybe I'm getting sick, too;" and Taeil had an awful image of Dongyoung being the same kind of sick he was-- of Dongyoung's heart hurting and his breath being blocked by petals. He imagined Dongyoung would throw up purple flowers--the kind that showed admiration instead of love. Somehow, Taeil couldn't imagine Dongyoung falling in love--not with him, not with Yoonoh, not with anyone; and it had more to do with the fact that Dongyoung was so _free_ , _so_  independent than it had to do with the fact that Taeil was kind of selfish and, yes, he wanted Dongyoung to be happy, but he didn't want Dongyoung to be with anyone else. (Taeil was good at suppressing the feelings for the ones he knew he should have-- for the _I hope Dongyoung falls in love with the right person_ \-- for the _I hope someone makes Dongyoung as happy as Dongyoung makes me_.)

Taeil let the thought fade quickly. Anyone Dongyoung fell in love with would fall in love, too; of this, Taeil was confident. Dongyoung was so easy to fall in love with. He was so easy to _love_ ; Dongyoung had his pick of anyone in the world. So far, he chose himself-- with Yoonoh and Taeil to watch from the sidelines.

"I hope this trip is fast. I love quick adventures." Dongyoung said. That brought on a question from Yoonoh--who just loved to question Dongyoung, to get his pretty answers, "Don't you like to enjoy the adventure? Love it while it lasts?" and Dongyoung shook his head, "I love to live in the moment and look back when the moment is boring. I love to remember the adventures I went on when I can't be on an adventure. It makes those dull moments less boring if I live the adventure then instead of now."

Pretty answer, indeed.

  
**\- + -**

  
Taeil took Yoonoh's advice-- was it really advice? more of a suggestion-- and started a scrap book.

 

  
**Part One**

Taeil decided to start the scrapbook the night he got a tattoo. Yoonoh crashed early; he was exhausted for a reason Taeil and Dongyoung didn't know and wouldn't find out until morning. Taeil could feel his own fuse burning out, but with Dongyoung to himself, he decided to suggest-- "Let's go out," and Dongyoung looked at the clock, shrugged off the time, "Okay."

First stop: dinner. Taeil was starving, and he had to wake up early the next day; he wasn't going to have time to eat breakfast unless he wanted to sacrifice even more sleep, and he was already doing that. Might as well just eat extra for dinner.

"Try it, hyung," Dongyoung said-- a sweet gesture of feeding Taeil some of his dinner. Half an hour into sitting in the restaurant, and they were eating, and it was almost 10:00 and the restaurant closed in twenty minutes. Taeil leaned over the table and ate what Dongyoung had for him. It was steak with something else, and it was delicious. Taeil fed Dongyoung right back; he had a variety of seafood, and it was going to cost quite a bit, but Taeil didn't care. He had money to spend if it meant he would spend time with Dongyoung.

"Do you have a big plan for tonight? A big adventure with me?" Dongyoung asked, and he had his forever smile on his lips. Taeil nodded after a distracted moment, and he became distracted again by the way Dongyoung's eyes looked-- curious and flattered. His eyes were already asking a question, so Taeil didn't wait for his mouth to say the same, "I want to go to the store first. I want a scrapbook."

"A scrapbook? Are you fifty-five, all of a sudden?" Dongyoung asked, his curious eyes becoming more curious-- but in an amused way, this time, and he raised an eyebrow to accompany the confused, amused look. Taeil shrugged, deciding not to react to the little joke, "Maybe. My memory isn't as good as yours, and I like what you said about adventures. It's easy to live in the faster moment and remember in the slower ones. I want a polaroid, too."

"Ah, so you're going to document all of your adventures, and then live them back like me?" Dongyoung asked, and Taeil nodded. Dongyoung nodded, "In that case, we need glue. Maybe just some tape-- so you can put your pictures in there. And sharpies. You should always sign a polaroid-- date it. Put a pretty caption. Like today, if you took a picture right now. January 12th, Adventure With Dongyoung -- Part One."

"Part one?" Taeil asked, and Dongyoung nodded, "You have to split up the night-- you always have to split up an adventure, just in case something goes wrong. You know which parts to remember, and which ones to just forget. Dinner is only part one of our adventure. Part two will be the store. Part three...."

"I want a tattoo." Taeil said. He had planned on saving the tattoo for a later date-- maybe a day or two past Taeil's story, but it seemed appropriate to bring it up now, to sacrifice more sleep to have a full adventure with Dongyoung. Dongyoung's eyes went wide-- with shock, with curiosity, with excitement. (Taeil adored the expression.) His smile was still present on his face, "Really, hyung? You want a tattoo? Where? Of what?"

"I want to have it somewhere on my arm, I think. I want a flower." Taeil said. He had the idea to get the tattoo in the same place Dongyoung had gotten his. Dongyoung turned his head to the side, even more curious, "Why do you want a flower, hyung?" and Taeil smiled, "I want to name it Kim."

"Kim...." Dongyoung took a moment to connect the dots, "For me, hyung?"

"Yes." Taeil said, and Dongyoung's smile brightened that much more; and Taeil's heart lifted with love, "You want to get a tattoo for me? Hyung, I'm going to cry. I love you."

"Me, too." Taeil said, and Dongyoung sat up a little straighter, putting on a _let's plan this out_  stance, "Okay, so, part three-- tattoo shop. Part four?"

"We'll walk around a bit. See what's open, go inside. If it's a club, we'll dance. If it's a store, we'll shop. If it's a restaurant, we'll eat. Part four is a mystery right now." Taeil said, and Dongyoung clapped a bit, "I love it. Will there be a part five?"

"We'll see what happens after part four." Taeil said. He glanced down at his watch--which he'd just remembered to put on before he and Dongyoung went out. He looked back up a Dongyoung, a warning-- "We should hurry and eat. This place is about to close and I'm pretty excited to get onto part two of our da-- adventure."

Dongyoung nodded, stuffing more food into his mouth, "Me too, hyung."

 

  
**Part Two**

"This one is _really_  pretty, hyung. But this one you can decorate... but you don't really like to draw, right? But Yoonoh could draw it for you! Since he isn't on our adventure, he could decorate the cover for you. Let's get this one." Dongyoung said. He was very animated, especially when he was tired. It was half past ten and they'd been in the store for almost half an hour, looking for the perfect scrapbook. Taeil had chosen a light blue polaroid already; they were on to finding a scrapbook. There was one with butterflies, one with a plain purple cover, one that was orange, one that was plain white, one that customizable. Dongyoung had asked Taeil what he wanted; Taeil said he would let Dongyoung choose, and Dongyoung took his time debating which one was perfect. Taeil ended up with the customizable one.

"Yoonoh is good at drawing. I think he'll make a really beautiful picture." Dongyoung said. He kept his fingers on the cart as he walked in front of it, like he was pulling Taeil along. He _was_ leading the way, looking up at the labeled aisles and searching for pens. He found a variety of colored pens down the drawing aisle, and he picked a pack that Yoonoh would like and a pack that Taeil would like, and Taeil told Dongyoung to get one that he liked, too, but "You've spent so much, hyung-- and the scrapbook is yours, anyway," and Taeil shrugged, "So? Yoonoh gets a pack--" "--because he's decorating the front for you!" "--I want you to get some, too--" and Dongyoung put more pens in the cart, with a little pout and a little smile of "I love you, hyung," and Taeil replied with a fond smile and a slow blink of his admired eyes, "Me, too."

 

  
**Part Three**

"You can hold my hand, hyung." Dongyoung said softly-- quietly. Taeil was about to get his first (and, more likely than not, his only) tattoo, and he was actually _very_  nervous. He didn't like to put himself through pain, but he knew-- even if it was just a tattoo-- it was important. Taeil glanced at him, and he opened his palm. He wanted to say _No, it's okay; you got your tattoo without a hand to hold-- I can, too_ , but he did want to hold Dongyoung.

"It doesn't hurt, hyung, I promise. Just breathe, okay? Do you want me to sing for you?" Dongyoung asked, and Taeil nodded. Dongyoung started singing, and then the tattoo gun started buzzing, and Taeil squeezed his eyes shut and kept his arm as relaxed as possible. Dongyoung sang him through his tattoo, which really didn't hurt that much. It did start to ache a little bit later, when Taeil had to move his arm around; but Taeil was used to that. Every single part of loving Kim Dongyoung had ached at least a little bit.

 

  
**Part Four**

"I can't believe we ended up at an arcade," Dongyoung laughed loudly. The arcade was attached to a bar-- odd, but Taeil didn't question it. They were in an odd town. There was loud music playing and lots of animated games and one person behind the counter that kept looking at Dongyoung. Taeil wanted to get jealous, but he understood. Dongyoung was so easy to fall in love with. Even though the man had only seen Dongyoung down two shots and play a game of air hockey with Taeil, he was easy to fall in love with.

"I can't believe you're enjoying this as much as you are. You're like a child." Taeil said. Dongyoung stuck his tongue out-- _more proof!_ \-- and Taeil laughed right back. Dongyoung sat in one chair of a multi-player game and tapped on the chair next to him four times. Taeil sat down, and he stuck four coins into the game, and they began to play-- with Dongyoung shouting about how Taeil was beating him and Taeil laughing his ass off because he wasn't even trying.

"Not fair! You killed me like five times!" Dongyoung said. Taeil looked at him, and he thought _you kill me every day_ , but there was no use in saying it. There was no use in even thinking it. He turned to the game again, and he let his character "get worse," and he let Dongyoung kill him. Dongyoung cheered-- "I finally beat you!"-- and Taeil just looked at him-- watched him stand and dance around happily. He admired the hell out of that silly man, he thought. His smile became soft; his eyes became softer. His chest was calm and his stomach was calm, and he was so blissfully in love.

"Let's dance!" Dongyoung said, with an arm outstretched, but he wasn't close enough to grab Taeil's hand. Taeil stood, and he followed Dongyoung, their fingers meeting somewhere in-between the dance floor and the arcade. The music was _so_  loud; but Dongyoung's laughter drowned it out. They pressed close to each other and they danced their hearts away (even though they couldn't actually dance). It was more running around each other happily than it was dancing; it was more hands on clothes than it was touching, but it was fun nonetheless. And they each had one more shot before they left-- three more dances and one more game, and then Taeil noticed it was almost three in the morning, and he only had three hours left before he had to leave for work.

"I love having adventures with you, hyung." Dongyoung said as he was climbing into the car-- passenger seat. Taeil climbed into the driver's seat, happy they had found their way to the car. They'd remained parked at the tattoo shop, because _"I know I said we'd walk, but--" "No! No, hyung, we have to walk-- it's part of the plan!"_  and they walked about three blocks, hand-in-hand, before finding themselves in the arcade. And, somehow, they walked four blocks, hand-in-hand, before they found their way back; but they found their way back, and that's all that really mattered.

"Oh! Hyung!" Dongyoung said. He reached into the back seat, and he grabbed Taeil's polaroid. He handed it over to the older, and he turned on the car light, and he smiled, with two peace signs by his face, "Picture! Picture!" and he continued to pose and Taeil laughed fondly, and he brought the camera to his eyes-- _snap_.

"Perfect! Let me sign it!" Dongyoung said. Taeil caught the picture as it was slipping out of the camera, and he softly shook it in the air; and Dongyoung held onto it as Taeil began to drive. He took off his seat belt about five minutes later, reaching into the back of the car to grab the pens. Taeil scolded him-- "Idiot! Don't take your seat belt off!" and Dongyoung kissed his cheek, "But I trust you, hyung-- I'll never get hurt with you," and Taeil could go on a rant about how other drivers were on the road, too, and they were stupid and Dongyoung could still get hurt, but Dongyoung's touch made him so stupid and he didn't often get kisses from the younger so all he could really do was gulp and let Dongyoung go.

"There. I dated it-- January 12th, Adventure With Dongyoung. I wrote a little caption. _The moon looks pretty tonight_." Dongyoung said. He held the picture up for Taeil, "You're the moon, hyung."

"Pretty?" Taeil asked, and Dongyoung nodded. He settled in his seat again, and he looked out of the window, eyes searching for the moon. He looked across the stars and he found the moon, and he smiled at it, "It looks just like my tattoo tonight," and he held his arm to the window, looked at his tattoo and then at the moon, and he smiled-- so happy, so fond, "It's beautiful, hyung."

Taeil just nodded, couldn't decide if Dongyoung was still complimenting him or if he was truly admiring the beauty of space. Dongyoung didn't mind the silence; he leaned against the door and closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his mouth, "I had fun, hyung. I'm tired. I love you."

"Me, too." Taeil said-- a conclusive statement to respond to everything Dongyoung said. Dongyoung opened his eyes, and he shifted-- switched from leaning against the door to leaning against Taeil's shoulder. Taeil thought that was dangerous, but he didn't mind. "Tell me you love me, hyung."

"I love you, Dongyoung." Taeil said, the words somehow heavy in his throat. Dongyoung smiled; Taeil could practically feel it, "Me too, hyung."

 

  
**Part Five**

"We forgot to get _tape_." Dongyoung whined. He'd fallen asleep for twenty minutes in the car, and that was enough to have him energized again. Taeil had all but given up on sleeping; Dongyoung woke Yoonoh, and Yoonoh was currently drawing and coloring in the cover of Taeil's scrapbook. Dongyoung was busying himself with planning it out; Taeil organized the few things he wanted to put in it-- the picture of Dongyoung, the flower petal in his phone case, and his favorite poem (with the first petal he'd kept taped to the back).

"I can't believe we forgot tape-- we can't work on your scrapbook now, hyung." Dongyoung pouted. Taeil laughed softly, shook his head-- "It's okay, Dongyoung. We can work on it after I get my story tomorrow, okay?"

"Tomorrow... tomorrow! Hyung, tomorrow is in like two hours! What are you doing-- go to sleep, go to sleep!" Dongyoung urged, standing, pulling Taeil with him. Taeil laughed, "Okay, okay," and he went to brush his teeth, to change into his pajamas. He returned to the room to collect his phone, his petal, and say goodnight, and Dongyoung kissed his cheek but ushered him off, and Yoonoh hugged him-- distracted (he got _really_  into drawing), and ushered him off, too. Taeil settled into the hotel's bed and closed his eyes, soothed by the way Dongyoung and Yoonoh whispered, by the way Dongyoung hummed. He fell asleep to Dongyoung's soft, soft singing-- even though it wasn't for him this time.

  
**\- + -**

 

Four months passed since the first adventure Taeil documented. He documented many more adventures, and Yoonoh finally finished up the cover. It said _Dongyoung, Taeil, and Yoonoh_ , and it was beautiful. Dongyoung was painted orange; Taeil was painted purple; Yoonoh was painted blue. The background had been filled in with pretty white marker, and there were flowers sprouting beneath each of their names. Taeil's flower was orange. Yoonoh's flower was purple. Dongyoung's flower was blue.

"This is _beautiful_ \-- this is going to be the best scrapbook in history! Bury it, hyung; it can be like a time capsule." Dongyoung said. Taeil laughed, "Who's going to want to dig up all of our adventures?" and Dongyoung shrugged, "We're beautiful people-- come on. We've got such an interesting story," and Taeil couldn't help but agree. Kim Dongyoung, who was so easy to fall in love with; Jung Yoonoh, who was the best kind of friend; Moon Taeil, who threw up flower petals for the man he was in love with. They were quite the interesting trio.

"We have to make sure we go on lots of adventures," Dongyoung had said on the train ride back. He was flipping through the book, counting the pages, "We're going to have to fill it up."

And fill they did.

There were dozens of pictures taped to the front and back of each page, with little flowers hidden where Dongyoung wouldn't find them and Yoonoh only would if he was thinking about them. Taeil had decided to keep the one flower petal in his phone case; it meant something, because Yoonoh had put it there for him. Dongyoung occasionally looked at it, and he occasionally wondered how it stayed healthy, but Taeil distracted him each time; and the question remained unanswered.

So, here they were now. Taeil was finished up his third story of the month-- sixteen days in. He was typing away, and Dongyoung was laying on his bed, bored, on his phone. He was uploading something to Instagram-- an oddly beautiful picture he'd taken of Taeil working. Taeil swore his back was _not_  that aesthetically pleasing, but he supposed the addition of coffee and the slight mess of his hair did make for a pretty scene-- relatable in a way that people could only really imagine, because those people were still teens and they didn't actually work as hard as they think they did. Dongyoung watched the comments roll in, the likes. He kicked his feet back and forth, not impressed by the popularity. He never really cared about social media; he never even tried. He just got a lot of followers because he posted the best things. (Plus, he was gorgeous.)

"I like your polaroid more than I like my camera. I think scrapbooks mean a lot more than Instagram." Dongyoung said. Taeil hummed, grabbed for his coffee and took a sip. He had one more paragraph to write, and he could get through it in a flash. Just focus. Focus-- one more formal paragraph. Three words in-- eighteen words in-- seventy-seven words in. Almost done, almost done.

"That was quick," Dongyoung said when Taeil threw his hands in the air, with a shout of "Done!" and a sigh of relief. All he had to do was edit it, which he could do later. His story didn't actually have to be done for another three days, but Taeil was all about _do it now; get it out of the way-- what if something else comes up?_  Procrastination was his least favorite thing.

"I'm good at my job." Taeil said. He took another sip of his coffee, and Dongyoung hummed, "Don't move," and he scrambled out of bed to grab Taeil's polaroid. Taeil couldn't help but smile behind his cup, and Dongyoung smiled happily in return. He took his picture and he let his happiness spill in words and movements when the photograph began to come out, "That was perfect! You're good at staying still for a picture. Yoonoh never listens to me."

Dongyoung caught the picture, gently shook it through the air. Taeil chuckled, finished his coffee in another gulp (which kind of burned, but Taeil ignored it) and put the cup down. He let out a breath against the steam in his throat, "Yoonoh doesn't like pictures too much. He's much better when someone else is with him. Tell him not to move and then take a selfie with him."

"You're a genius." Dongyoung said. He looked at the picture, and his smile turned fond; and, for just a moment, Taeil thought he saw the way _he_  looked at Dongyoung in the younger's eyes. But that was just something Taeil's mind made up; the flower in his stomach was quick to remind him of that.

"You look amazing, hyung. Where are your pens? I have to caption it." Dongyoung said. Taeil opened the drawer beside him. He took in a breath, and he let himself talk, "I have to go to the bathroom, okay? I'll be right back," and Dongyoung nodded. He got up to grab a pen; Taeil escaped the room but, unfortunately, brushed against Dongyoung on the way. He had to practically jog into the bathroom, and he didn't make it to the toilet, but he made it behind a closed and locked door, and that's all that mattered to him. The petals spilled from his lips violently-- and there were so many more than there normally were. Taeil was gasping for breath by the end; and he was shaken and scared because the petals were in a pile up to his ankles. He fumbled for his phone, but it was in the bedroom, and he cursed himself for leaving it there. He gathered all the petals and threw them in the garbage, shakily taking more and more breaths. What the hell was all of that?

Taeil returned to Dongyoung carefully. The younger was smiling at the picture of Taeil. He turned the picture toward the older when he came in, "Look, hyung! _The moon needs coffee during the day_. It's stupid, but it fits, right?"

"It's very pretty." Taeil said, smiling softly. He made his way toward the desk, and he picked up his phone. He messaged Yoonoh, _I need you. Quick_ , and not half a second later, Taeil got a reply-- _I'll be right there_.

"Hey, Yoonoh's going to come over." Taeil said, and Dongyoung smiled, "Perfect! I'll make him take a selfie with me," Dongyoung put the picture on Taeil's nightstand, and he stretched a bit. He looked at the time, hummed, "It's kinda late, but I think I want coffee. Can I steal some of your coffee?"

"As long as you make me some, too." Taeil said, and Dongyoung laughed, promised he would. He left the room, and Taeil waited until he heard a cabinet shut to pick up his phone and call Yoonoh.

"I'm on my way over, hyung, I'm sorry--" Yoonoh sounded panicked. Taeil soothed him right away, "It's okay. I'm fine. But... I threw up a lot, just now. Like-- the petals. There were so many of them, Yoonoh. I don't know what that means."

"Don't you usually throw up a lot, hyung?" Yoonoh asked. Taeil sighed, "I mean, yeah. I guess so. But-- there were a _lot_. Like... I don't know. Four times the amount as usual. And my stomach is _killing me_ , and... I have no idea what to do, Yoonoh. I'm-- I'm kind of scared."

"It's okay, hyung. We'll figure this out. I promise. I'm almost there. Is Dongyoung with you?" Yoonoh asked, and Taeil hummed to confirm. Yoonoh sighed, "Okay. I'll be able to do some research when I'm over. Just--if you don't want him to know, keep him entertained, okay? I want to find out what's going on."

"Yeah," Taeil muttered softly, and Yoonoh told Taeil he loved him; and Taeil said it back; and Yoonoh hung up, and he showed up three minutes later, when Dongyoung was done with the second cup of coffee and he was able to hand it right off to Yoonoh, because he made it just the way the younger liked it.

"And for you, hyung," Dongyoung said, giving Taeil the first cup. Taeil smiled, "Thank you, Dongyoung," and he took a sip and it tasted like Heaven. Yoonoh look at Taeil, smiled gently at him. _It'll be okay, hyung_ , his lips read-- one of the only things Taeil could ever read from his lips. He had his phone out already, and he was scanning the page, his eyes moving quick as he read and read and read.

"Yoonoh, let's take a picture together. You need to be in Taeil-hyung's scrapbook more." Dongyoung said. He had the polaroid with him-- funny, because Taeil hadn't even seen him take it. It was funny, too, that Dongyoung was so into taking pictures for Taeil's scrapbook when he'd initially made fun of the fact that Taeil wanted a scrapbook at all. But it was sweet; and Taeil was touched, because Dongyoung always threw himself 100% into anything that interested his friends-- even stupid things that he didn't even really like.

Dongyoung was so easy to fall in love with.

"Okay," Yoonoh said, and he read one more sentence before he locked his phone. Dongyoung held his coffee as a prop; Yoonoh laughed, his own coffee against the counter. His hand was on it, and Taeil imagined, with the angle Dongyoung was holding the camera, that it was also in the shot. He watched the two take a picture, watched Yoonoh turn and look at Dongyoung; and he saw the love in his eyes, and he felt the tug in his stomach-- and he didn't even say anything before he escaped. He heard the click of the camera, and he felt the jolt in his stomach, and he rushed into the bathroom to throw up more petals-- more and more and more, and he collapsed at the end. He sat in his sea of white and breathed heavily. He tried to catch his breath; he tried to compose himself. It was so difficult, because he was on the verge of tears, now, and this had never scared him before but it scared him now. He was comfortable with the pain that came with loving Dongyoung. He was happy with the adventures. He didn't think he was ready to die yet.

"Hyung? Are you okay?" Yoonoh was standing outside, gently knocking on the door. Taeil coughed once, "Y-yeah, I'm fine," and Yoonoh lowered his voice, "Was it Dongyoung and I?" and Taeil coughed again, "No. No, it's fine, Yoonoh. I'm fine."

A few moments of silence passed. Yoonoh spoke, "The extra petals mean that the flower can't take it. It's sick of this; it's blooming too much-- too fast. It wants to get rid of all its petals. It wants to stop hurting. It's killing itself. It's going to kill you, too."

Silence. Taeil let out a small sob. Yoonoh sniffled, "Hyung, I think you should get the surgery. Please? I know you don't want to-- I know you want to love him, but... I need you. He does, too. Please? Please."

"Maybe," Taeil whispered; but he meant it this time.

  
**\- + -**

  
"Before I do this," Taeil started. He was gripping Yoonoh's hand, and he was shaking. It had still taken a little bit of convincing-- and three more times of almost suffocating-- to get Taeil to agree to the surgery, to actually take himself to the hospital and schedule a date. (They gave him twenty-two hours-- how wonderful.) Yoonoh went with him-- of course he did. And he was crying the whole way there and he was crying now. He was paying attention to Taeil, too. His teary eyes were fixed on Taeil's shaky features, "You have to promise me something."

"Of course." Yoonoh said. Taeil took in a breath. He looked at the clock-- three minutes. Three minutes until he was taken back; five until he was put under. Five minutes, and then some hours that would feel like _nothing_ , and Taeil would wake up, and he wouldn't love Kim Dongyoung anymore. Taeil breathed. He couldn't do this. He couldn't, but he had to. It was this, or he would die. At least with this he could still be around Dongyoung. At least with this, he could still love Yoonoh.

"If he falls in love with you," Taeil gripped Yoonoh's hand a little bit rougher, holding on a little bit tighter--a little bit longer, " _Don't_  hesitate. _Do not_  let him go."

"I won't." Yoonoh said, promised. He leaned against Taeil, head against the crook of the older's neck, "I promise, hyung."

Taeil nodded. He closed his eyes, and he tried not to think; but it was difficult not to think when Dongyoung was all that he knew; Dongyoung was all the love in his heart. (Well, Yoonoh, too. Taeil loved Yoonoh, too.)

"Moon Taeil," a nurse called, and Taeil took in a breath, let it out. Yoonoh didn't let go of his hand when he stood, and he held on long enough to say "I'll be right here when you're out, okay?" and Taeil nodded-- "If Dongyoung needs something, please go to him," and Yoonoh nodded. He let go of Taeil's hand, and Taeil left to get his surgery done. He was put under; he was coaxed into blackness, and his last thought was _I don't want to stop loving Kim Dongyoung_.

  
**\- + -**

  
Nothing felt different. Taeil didn't wake up feeling empty. He didn't wake up feeling numb and dumb; he woke up in a little bit of pain, but that was about it. He blinked against the harsh light, and he groaned as he sat up. Yoonoh was sitting right next to him, but he was asleep, and Dongyoung was there, too. Taeil's eyes went wide. He wondered what Yoonoh had said. He reached over to shake said man awake, as he didn't want Dongyoung to wake and ask how he was-- didn't want Dongyoung to wake and ask anything until Taeil found out what the story was.

"Yoonoh. Yoon-- Yoon--" Taeil said, and Yoonoh woke slowly-- and then all at once. He sprung forward to hug Taeil tight, but careful, and he sobbed into his shoulder, " _Hyung_. Hyung, you're okay. You're okay-- how do you feel?"

"I feel like someone cut my stomach open." Taeil laughed. Yoonoh laughed, too, and he pulled back and he wiped his tears and he just _smiled_ , because Taeil was alive and he wasn't suffering and everything seemed so okay. Yoonoh sat down, and he looked at Dongyoung, and he looked at Taeil. He tilted his head, "Do you...?"

"I don't remember how I felt, but I know it's not the same." Taeil said. He looked at Dongyoung, and he thought about Dongyoung. He always smiled. He was always happy. he was an amazing friend; and he would only ever be a friend. There was no tug in Taeil's stomach or heart when he thought about it, and he knew that was odd, but it felt normal-- and he supposed it really had gone away.

"I love him," Taeil said, and he looked at Yoonoh, who look concerned for a moment until Taeil mentioned, "But I love him like I love you."

"We love you, too." Yoonoh smiled, and he squeezed Taeil's fingers. He turned to wake Dongyoung a few minutes later, and Dongyoung leaned over Taeil and hugged him tight, kissed his head and told him to never scare him like that again. And then he pulled Yoonoh in, and he positioned himself on Taeil's other side, and he pulled out that damn polaroid and Taeil laughed; and Dongyoung snapped a picture of the three of them. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, and he dated the picture, and he signed it with a caption.

 _The moon had better never leave me_  
_\--Dongyoung_

 

Taeil couldn't put it into his scrapbook until five days later, when he was out of the hospital. Even then, he waited-- waited and waited for a few months until he'd recovered enough to move around. He could even stretch and it didn't hurt... not too much. Dongyoung visited him every day; Yoonoh, too; and then they visited him every week, because work got in the way and Dongyoung went on another adventure, and he stole Taeil's polaroid on the way, saying "I want to take you with me, hyung," and he came back with a million pictures and a promise of buying Taeil another polaroid, because he used up all the film. He dated and signed every picture; and his hair turned orange halfway through, because he'd gone and dyed his hair without telling anyone. (It was one hell of a surprise for Taeil and Yoonoh both when he came back.)

Taeil was organizing his scrapbook when he saw the first petal he hid in there-- hidden behind the poem he'd written. It was one of his favorites; inspired by Dongyoung, of course. He read over it-- once, twice, and he looked over the pictures, and he smiled happily. He had an idea to write another poem in the back of his mind, but it was in the _back_ of his mind, and he let it stay that way until another month later, when he sat down and let himself write. He had the idea of trees in his mind, with the moon, too. He sat at his desk at midnight, and he looked up at the moon between the leaves of the tree in his backyard, and he began to write about a tree that grew so tall and so alone that it reached the moon. It had purple and white flowers, and there was a blue flower and an orange flower beneath it. It grew and grew; and it was beautiful, and it lost its white flowers halfway to the moon.

Somewhere near the end, Taeil felt a tug in his stomach, like he was going to be sick. He let out a sigh; he'd gotten sick for a couple months after his surgery, finding it difficult to keep much down. He'd tried to eat a bit more today-- for once, as he had been out with his friends, but that was clearly a mistake. He stood, and he carefully made his way to the bathroom, not wanting to lost the contents of his stomach before he could make it to a toilet. He closed the door and made his way to the toilet, carefully lifting the seat and then allowing the sickness to come. He felt a familiar slide of material against his throat; and he hoped, for a moment, that it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. But when he opened his eyes, it wasn't food that was floating in the toilet.

There were so few that Taeil could count them, but they were _there_.

Just beneath Taeil's eyes, twelve green petals lay-- floating-- in the water.

  
**\- + -**

  
_I sometimes wonder why my petals are green. I sometimes wonder why the petals came back. I wonder if the flower is growing, and it's still in the growing phase. I wonder if the petals will turn white again. I wondered, before, if they could be leaves, but they look exactly like my white petals. They're just a different color._

_My white petals had meaning. If there is a deeper meaning than my flower growing back, then it's that I'm balanced. Green is a balanced diet; green is balance in life and in love. That's the only meaning I could find. I didn't search very hard, however; I was satisfied with the results. I could ask Yoonoh, but I'm hiding it from him this time. I don't want him to know this time. He's happy that I'm better now. I'm happy that he's no longer stressing out over me._

_Besides. I have a theory._

_I perverted my love for Kim Dongyoung. I got surgery to kill the flower, and I messed up the innocence that the white symbolized. I killed my love, but it came back to me-- balanced rather than pure. It used to be the one innocent thing in my life, and now I've messed that up. I'm not being punished. I'm simply balanced, now. My love is strong, but it's no longer pure. It's average, just like me. It's an average love with a strong bond, but it's still average._

_It's been proven that Dongyoung deserves more than me -- someone who would rather kill their love for him than live through the pain it might cause._

_Dongyoung is happy. I know he is. I'm happy, too. I know the flowers will kill me one day, but I'm not going to kill my love for him again. I do hope I finish my scrapbook before I die. I hope I can tape my journal to it and leave it for him. I want him to know that someone loves him. If I die before he gets it, I suppose it'll have to be that someone loved him. I do know that more people love him, though._

_He's so easy to fall in love with_.


	3. Without You (Chinese Version)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _can't live without...._  
>  Kun wouldn't give up love for life.  
> [au]: hanahaki  
> ♡ winwin and kun

Kun knew he was fighting for the losing team the moment he coughed up his first petal.

Right away, he didn't even think about what it meant. He just freaked out a little bit, wondered _Why was there a petal in my throat? Why didn't I feel it?_  He allowed the worry to sink after looking at the petal for a couple minutes, concluding that what just happened was weird but explainable: he inhaled a petal at the park earlier... somehow, and it stayed in a comfortable position in his throat through lunch... somehow, and he coughed it up now because his breathing disturbed it... somehow. That's why his stomach had lurched, too. There was something in his throat making him gag and he felt like he might throw up because of it. Simple.

Except it wasn't like that, because Kun went to sleep that night thinking about it-- thinking and thinking and thinking because he just couldn't make sense of it. Even at 2 a.m., when his puppy jumped onto his bed and settled by his pillow, whined for a hand to slide down his back-- even when Kun was petting Yukhei, when he gathered his thoughts the best, Kun still had so many questions. How would a petal have stayed in his throat--? and if it had gone all the way to his stomach, how the hell had he coughed it out? Petals didn't just crawl the way up to human's throats after being in their stomachs, right?

Kun woke up and tried to forget about it, but only for a second, because the moment he rolled over and saw the petal on his desk, not at all wilted or even a little bit rougher to the touch than it had been the day before, Kun knew something was wrong. He just couldn't make sense of it.

He could look it up (though he would have no idea what question to type into the internet: why did I cough up a flower? can a petal stay in your throat? Where did he begin?). He could go to the doctor (but he also had no idea how to explain that: hi, doc, a petal crawled down my throat and then decided to crawl back up-- got any treatments for that?). He didn't do either of those things, though, because (one: embarrassing-- and two:) random, strange things like this-- ones that lead to (stupid?) questions and (unnecessary?) worry-- are what best friends are made for.

"You coughed this up, ge?" Sicheng raised an eyebrow. The red petal was right next to his face-- held up between his pointer finger and his thumb, because he'd been examining it a moment ago. Kun nodded, "Last night. I coughed it up-- I don't know why."

"Well... I've never actually believed in it, but," Sicheng swallowed carefully, his eyes suddenly on the petal instead of Kun's face, "You might have Hanahaki Disease."

"Hana-- what?" Kun asked. Sicheng explained it to him as simply as he could: "When you're in love with someone-- like, really, _really_  in love with someone, and they don't love you back, you cough up flower petals. This one... looks like a tulip petal? And it's red, so... oh, red was so easy too--

"Oh! It means true love. So, whoever you're in love with... you love them truly. Like, more than the movies or the books-- more than you can explain--" Sicheng stopped. He handed the petal back, "Or you really did just get a red tulip petal stuck in your throat, somehow. But we didn't go around any red tulips yesterday, so I have no idea how that would have happened.... I hope you just got it stuck in your throat somehow, though. Hanahaki is really dangerous, ge."

"Why? I don't-- how am I coughing up petals? Where are they coming from?" Kun asked. Sicheng snapped, "Oh! Right, ge, there's a flower in your stomach. I think... like, you were in love with this person for a really long time, but you realized it suddenly, and probably recently. It's kind of like your love blossomed-- but it happened all at once, so a flower sprouted with it. Now the flower feels your pain, and it tries to kill itself every day by picking itself apart. When those petals sit in your stomach, you tend to throw them up, because your body rejects them. It's like poison. It-- it could kill you one day, ge."

"It could kill me?" Kun asked, his heart dropping. Sicheng nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. He was looking everywhere but Kun's face-- a habit of his when he was sad. One would think nervous or trying to hide something, but Kun knew Sicheng better than that. Sicheng would look you directly in the eye when he was telling a lie, or terrified out of his mind, but if something made him sad, he couldn't bare to look at it.

"What... do I do, then?" Kun asked. He was expecting Sicheng to tell him: nothing, it's terminal, and you're going to die, ge, and maybe cry with him for a little while because this was so terrifying and Kun didn't want to die and Sicheng didn't want him to die, either, but Sicheng always had some optimistic way to look at things, even if the view wasn't his own, "There are three options, ge. Four, technically-- you can wait for the person you love, because they-- maybe-- haven't realized they love you yet-- or, the better sub-option, you can tell that person you love them and, if they love you, too, then the flower will leave you entirely. You'll have to throw it up... and it'll hurt... but you'll be alive.

"Or you could go to the hospital and tell them you have that rare disease, Hanahaki, and they'll set you up to have the flower surgically removed... but your feelings go with it, ge, so that person you love-- you'd never love them again."

"Even as a friend?" Kun asked. Sicheng shrugged, "It depends on how much you love them now. If you love them enough, the love will never really go away... but you can never have them. Your heart-- your body-- your mind just won't let you. They're poisonous, their love. They'll become like-- like a bitter sugar that you want but you just can't have."

Kun gulped. He was picturing this person in his mind: this person he was in love with. He knew it-- he knew it as soon as Sicheng started talking about love. He remembered, just a week back, the drop in his stomach when he held that person's hand and realized _I am absolutely in love with him_. He knew, and it was breaking his heart more and more to hear him talk.

"What about the third option? The fourth one, technically." Kun said. Sicheng started to look down again, "That's-- the one where you die, ge."

 

 

  
Kun went home, lay down on his couch, and cried. He sobbed into his pillow and didn't reach to pet Yukhei when the puppy jumped on his lap and whined and pawed at his hip and tried to ask him what was wrong. Kun dug his fingers as far into the pillow as it would allow and _sobbed_ , buried his face and suffocated himself. He had Hanahaki-- he knew he did, because as soon as Sicheng said _die, ge_ , Kun's stomach wrenched like he was going to throw up, and he ran to Sicheng's bathroom and he didn't even lock it and he started to vomit-- but he didn't vomit food or liquid-- it was petals. Petals, petals; seas of red hot petals. Sicheng stepped into the room when Kun was done gagging and he fell to his knees next to the older, and he clung to Kun and he cried-- just a little bit. He didn't _sob_ , he didn't make any noise. He just let some tears fall as he held a shaken Kun and told him "You have it, ge-- you have it-- you have it--" and he wouldn't let Kun leave for hours-- hours and hours they spent researching the disease, learning everything Sicheng had told him and more, and all Kun wanted to do the whole time was go home and cry.

He knew he was a wimp. He knew he was pathetic. He wanted to cry over the situation instead of find out how to fix the problem. He wasn't as courageous as Sicheng who, granted, was not dying, but was still willing to find a solution. A _solution_. Kun had three options-- four, technically. (1) (a) Tell that person he loved them, (b) Wait for them to love him, too (which was absolutely risky and could end in Kun's death before it ended in love), (2) Get the surgery and never love that person again, or (3) Die.

Kun pulled the pillow off of his face and lay on his back, finally petting Yukhei when the pup crawled onto his lap. The puppy pawed at his stomach a bit rougher than he usually would, like he knew the flower was there and he was trying to figure it out himself. Kun put his hands beneath Yukhei's palms and told him, "No. No, Yukhei, don't-- I'm okay, ge is okay, just--"

Kun sucked in a breath and let it back out in a few seconds. Yukhei went still on his lap and them moved to his face, began to lick at his tears. _What a sweetheart_ , Kun thought-- and what a sweetheart, indeed. Puppies and kittens and house pets alike had a sixth sense for their owner's poor health and ill feelings. Yukhei seemed to know everything at once. He whimpered in Kun's face and lay on his chest. He looked at Kun and waited-- just waited for him to talk, to give him to news straight out.

Kun looked at his puppy for a moment and let everything fall on him at once. He thought about how much he loved his little puppy, a gift from his father before he passed. He remembered the last words his father said to him, "Take care of Yukhei and that-- that Sicheng boy," and Kun promised he would and he felt his dad's hand go limp and cold and dead between his palms. He watched it all drain out of his father, and he promised himself he would never die like that. He would never die in the sight of his loved ones. He would go the way his mother had, alone but not _alone_ \--

and now he had to look Yukhei in the face and say "I'm dying, buddy," after bringing the news to Sicheng before he even really knew it. Yukhei didn't understand what he said-- of course not. He was still a puppy. He only knew that Kun was sad and his health was significantly less okay than it was yesterday. He hopped to his feet again and licked Kun's face, and Kun let himself cry and cry because Yukhei would just lick it all up, comfort him, so Kun was allowed to think of his dead mother and his dead father and his dying self and how he was so unconfident that Sicheng would love him, too, that he would just have to lay back and let the petals suffocate him, because if he couldn't save his mother and he couldn't pay for his father's surgery, he was going to love Sicheng until his last breath.

 

 

  
After spending one day (honest! Kun could say that honestly) crying over the fact that he was going to die, Kun made it his mission to love Sicheng harder than he ever had-- without Sicheng knowing. Kun knew Sicheng didn't love him; if he did, Kun wouldn't be dying. What a dream, right? Someone with Hanahaki confesses to their truly loved, and their flower just goes away-- painfully, sure, but they quite literally puke death out of their body-- that sounds much more fulfilling than painful. But that doesn't just happen-- Hanahaki doesn't just happen. There's no happy ending with Hanahaki. There's never a happy ending with Hanahaki. (Kun had only had the disease for thirty-nine hours, and of this he was confident.)

Kun knocked on Sicheng's door at 10:00 with muffins and Yukhei. Yukhei wasn't on a leash; Sicheng wouldn't mind. Yukhei was loyal, would stay by Kun's feet the whole time and maybe break away for just a little while to softly attack Sicheng's legs and fingers with as much love as his little puppy body could hold. He loved Sicheng, too. Damn-- him and Kun would have worked out great.

"Kun-ge!" Sicheng said happily, throwing his arms around Kun first thing. Kun only wrapped one arm around him, because his other hand was preoccupied with the basket of muffins he'd bought from the bakery... across town. Kun wished he could say it was around the corner, but he just wasn't that fortunate to live in such an area.

"I brought breakfast and love," Kun said. Sicheng pulled away from the hug, curious. He spotted the muffins and he spotted the puppy-- the breakfast, and the love. That was how he interpreted it, anyhow. Kun kept it a secret to himself-- and perhaps Yukhei, too, because Yukhei knew a little for a pup-- that the love he brought was from his own heart, and that he was going to give it all to Sicheng before his heart gave out.

"Yukhei!" Sicheng said happily, bending to allow the puppy to jump into his arms. Yukhei licked happily at Sicheng's face, draped his little front legs over Sicheng's shoulders. Sicheng laughed-- happy and deep and pleased, and Kun smiled-- smiled at his two little loves who loved each other, too. Sicheng opened his eyes to look at Kun, tilted his head back a little to gesture for Kun to come inside, and then laughed and got distracted again when Yukhei whimpered and stretched and tried to reach his face again. Sicheng turned, with Yukhei, and started into his home. Kun followed, and shut the door behind him.

"What kind of muffins did you bring?" Sicheng asked, curious and excited. He leaned over his island to peek, his entire bottom lip at the mercy of his teeth's grasp. Sicheng was the only person who looked cute doing that, Kun swore.

"I have banana nut and blueberry and cherry and probably chocolate chip." Kun said. He set the basket on the counter, "I asked for the four best-- three of each. Take your pick."

"Blueberry!" Sicheng asked, reaching for a muffin of the sort. He took a bite directly from the top and smiled happily as he was chewing-- closed his eyes and enjoyed the taste more now that he had shut out one of his senses. Kun took a chocolate chip for himself and unwrapped it, turned it around, and began to eat from the bottom. Sicheng would tease him, telling him the bottom was the best and he saved it for last. Kun disagreed; the top of the muffin was the softest, and the prettiest, and Kun loved it more.

"How do you feel?" Sicheng wondered, suddenly a bit more serious. The serious tone broke almost right away when Yukhei whined and nipped at Sicheng's ankle, and Sicheng laughed and reached for the puppy and pet his ears. Yukhei jumped onto the chair next to Sicheng. Kun told him "Down, Yukhei," and Sicheng pouted, "No, no, it's okay--" and Kun chuckled, looked at his puppy, sitting and sulking on the floor, and told him, "It's okay, Yukhei. Sicheng loves you-- up--" and Yukhei happily jumped all the way into Sicheng's lap and licked his face and loved him for two minutes straight, in which time Kun answered "I feel great, actually," and Sicheng smiled, "The flower won't eat at your health until your time starts really running out, which... there's really no set time for Hanahaki," and Kun asked, "Do you know what the shortest time was?" and Sicheng bit his cheek, "Two weeks."

"And the longest?" Kun asked when Yukhei jumped down and went to his feet instead. Yukhei knew Kun was busy-- eating and talking, so he sat by Kun's foot and calmly rested while his owner talked. Sicheng rolled his eyes up to think, "I... gosh, I think some guy lived with it for live fifteen years? I don't know, ge-- but it was a long time."

 _Fifteen years. I could spend my love on Sicheng in fifteen years-- easy_ , but Sicheng found a pessimistic tone to the tale, "But... he suffered for a long time, ge. Promise me you won't suffer for that long?"

And there was the optimism-- the little spark of hope in his eyes. _Promise me you won't suffer for that long_. With Kun's luck, he would end up with a two-week death sentence, and he would be dead by Thursday. So he nodded, and he promised, "I won't suffer for that long."

Sicheng nodded, pleased but still sad-- because he smiled, but he didn't look at Kun. He took another bite of his muffin and then, as Kun was bringing his muffin to his mouth, "Who is it, ge? Who do you love?"

Kun had thought about this question being asked but hadn't thought of an answer in the meantime. So, Kun was silent for some time. He chewed on his muffin as an excuse; he never talked with his mouth full. But Sicheng sat there and awaited an answer, and Kun couldn't keep him waiting for long. He swallowed quickly-- a bit uncomfortably, too, when he thought of something, and he spat it out, with a little bit of a playful tone so it didn't sound like he was making it up, "I shouldn't tell you. I don't want you to be mad at him."

"Him." Sicheng repeated. Kun could practically see the gears in his brain turning-- _him, him_ , collecting all the _hims_  Kun knew. There weren't many. Sicheng hardly knew any of them.

Sicheng was smart. He would figure it out, surely. He knew Kun wasn't as close to anyone as he was to Sicheng himself; he had to know that Kun would only fall in love with someone that was as close, or closer, than Sicheng. Sicheng was so smart-- _so smart_. Kun wouldn't be surprised if he figured it out before Kun died in two weeks (probably).

"Who could you love?" Sicheng wondered softly. He wasn't looking at Kun; his eyes were trained on the table in thought. His grip was limp around the muffin; his gaze was glassy and focused. He was going to give himself a headache, thinking so much.

"Hey. Don't overthink it, Sicheng. Really, it's better if you didn't know. I really don't want you to have ill feelings toward this person after I die--" and oh, God, Kun should not have said that. Sicheng's head snapped up faster than Kun had ever seen anything move. His eyes were bigger than Kun had ever seen them before. Sicheng dropped his muffin; it tumbled straight to the floor, and Kun felt a brush of fur against his leg as Yukhei woke up and went to eat breakfast, too. Kun couldn't even bother telling him "Bad! Don't eat that!" because he was so focused on Sicheng's reaction--

"Die? What do you mean _die?_  Ge, you can't die, just-- just tell him! Tell him, it'll be okay! If he doesn't love you, get the surgery. Please, ge, don't die. Please." Sicheng's voice was cracking and he was looking away from Kun again. He closed his eyes and he crossed his arms on the table and then his forehead was against his wrists and he was sobbing, this time. There weren't just a few tears falling from his eyes like there were last night, when he had hope. He was sobbing-- _sobbing_ , now, and Kun knew why. Kun knew exactly why Sicheng needed him-- because Kun was the brother that Sicheng once had, but that relationship ended six years ago, when a car crash made Sicheng a single child for the first time.

"Sicheng," Kun said softly, but Sicheng wasn't going to listen to him, hear him out-- not like this, "Tell him you love him, ge. Please just confess to him or-- get the surgery, _please_."

"Sicheng." Kun whispered. He had told himself all morning not to tell Sicheng he'd chosen to die. It wasn't fair to Sicheng. It wasn't fair for him to lose something else while Kun let himself go to be with everything they'd both lost.

"I'll leave Yukhei behind." Kun said, even softer-- but that was no bargain, and it was another thing Kun shouldn't have said. Kun was standing next to Sicheng, by that point, and Sicheng sat up slowly, looked at Kun, and then punched him in the gut.

" _Leave Yukhei behind_ \-- Kun, are you _crazy?_  I don't want a puppy, I want _you_. You're my brother-- you're-- you're--" and Kun really tried to hear him out, because it was the least he could do after saying so many stupid things, but the punch had churned his stomach roughly, and he felt like he might throw up again, so he reached for Sicheng's shoulder, hoping to give him a comforting, _I'll be right back_ touch before he threw up his guts, but Sicheng pushed him away "Don't touch me!" and Kun couldn't wait anymore-- he ran to the bathroom and he started to puke. He locked the door behind him this time; when Sicheng ran after him and tried to turn the handle, it wouldn't budge. He banged on the door-- once, twice, "Ge? Ge-- I-- I'm sorry-- ge, I love you--" and he was still crying and the banging stopped after some moments and the barking that Kun didn't notice until it stopped ceased at around the same time.

Kun puked and puked and puked petals. It was way too much, and it was all at once, and Kun sat back, breathing hard, when all the petals had settled. Kun gulped heavily and stared at the sea he'd created. He could hear Sicheng sobbing and Yukhei whimpering, but he couldn't focus on that. He saw something peculiar in the flower-- something green in a sea of red. Kun reached for it, his shaky fingers, well, shaking. His fingers dug through the red petals until it grasped the green he saw and he pulled, and he came up with a tulip-- a full tulip with wilting petals.

Kun had just thrown up his flower.

Slowly, Kun got to his feet and walked to the bathroom door. He turned the lock and then the knob, and he pulled open the door just enough to step out. Sicheng stopped sobbing when the door creaked, and he shot up when he saw Kun, a yell of "Ge!" escaping his lips and he rushed into Kun's arms. He continued to sob into Kun's shoulder while Yukhei stood by their ankles, happily wagging his tail, as if he knew what had happened-- as if he knew Kun was okay.

"I thought I killed you, ge," Sicheng sobbed, gripping the back of Kun's shirt roughly. Kun imagined his eyes were closed, because everything around him was making him cry and he couldn't bear to look at any of it.

"I thought-- I thought I punched you and-- and I killed you, and-- I'm so sorry, ge. I'm so sorry, but you can't leave me--" Sicheng sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. He still hadn't seen the flower in Kun's hand, or the amount of petals covering his bathroom floor. Still, he knew. Somehow, he knew, "T-tell me it's me, ge. Tell me you love me."

Kun thought he knew how Sicheng knew.

"I love you. I love you so much, Sicheng." Kun told him, and Sicheng sobbed again, and he pulled back, and he kissed Kun's flowery lips and sobbed into his mouth and laughed and kept his eyes closed and told him "I told you-- I told you-- just confess-- just confess--"

"Are you that scared to lose me?" Kun joked softly, and he knew Sicheng wanted to punch him again, right in the middle of his stupid, dopey smile, but he didn't. Instead, he kissed the stupid, dopey smile and smiled right back at it, finally opening his eyes as he told Kun "More scared than that."

 

 

  
(Kun realized, some time later, that it was stupid to think he could spend all of his love on Sicheng. He had way too much love for the younger man-- an infinite amount, and Kun was crazy to think he could spend it all in two weeks, or fifteen years, or even a lifetime; so he would just have to love Sicheng forever, he supposed. He also supposed that some Hanahaki stories did have happy endings-- at the cost of a sad beginning.)


	4. Fire Truck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _소방차_  
>  When half of the NCT members die in a car accident, they become guardian angels for those that survived.  
> [au]: guardian angels  
> ♡ nct (feat. a lot of hidden pairings)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (set before limitless era)  
> \+ reposted/edited because I didn't really like the end

**THREE MONTHS AFTER THE ACCIDENT**.  
"Okay, so we're guardian angels. That only took us three months to figure out." Donghyuck said, sarcasm dripping from his voice; but no one was mad at him for it. It _had_  taken them quite a while to come to that realization; seven dead men had wandered around the practice rooms and dorms and wondered why the hell no one could see them.

The short version of the story went like this: NCT 127-- Moon Taeil, Lee Taeyong, Nakamoto Yuta, Jung Yoonoh, Dong Sicheng, Mark Lee, and Lee Donghyuck-- were on their way to a performance, only three songs in mind. Fire Truck, Once Again, and a surprise performance of Mad City. However, on the way, their car crashed. The brutal details are appropriately left out of story and memory; but all seven of them died in the accident. None of them actually realized death had captured them until Yoonoh tried to touch Dongyoung and went right through him. That was day one of being dead-- about five hours into it, in fact. Sicheng and Donghyuck weren't even dead yet; they were in little comas, fighting for life. Donghyuck died another hour later. Sicheng didn't die for another month and a half.

"Being stuck between life and death is really, really painful." Sicheng had commented, with a quiet little pout. He was in Taeyong's arms when he said it-- didn't want to move out of the comfort of his embrace for weeks to come. It wasn't until that point-- comforting Sicheng, promising everything was okay-- that any of them thought to question, "Why are we still here, by the way? Like-- are we ghosts? No one can see us, so I assume... but there would be more of us, right? I haven't seen any other dead people.... Do we _look_  dead? You all look normal to me, but-- do I have like broken bones and shit?"

"No. We all look the way we did before we died." Taeyong had said, with a scoff of a laugh escaping before his next comment, "Good thing, too. I'd be ugly as hell if I looked the way I did when I died."

"You looked like a blueberry, hyung--" and a laugh accompanied the comment until, "Actually, it was kind of terrifying."

Yoonoh had been the first one to die in the accident-- had died upon impact. He'd been the first to come back as a ghost-- a guardian angel, really (as they would find out), right there in the car. He felt no pain, and he saw his own body, and he was all kinds of confused, but he figured he was still alive and was hallucinating. That was the only way to explain it. (Later-- about two hours later, when Taeil died, Yoonoh began to suspect that neither of them had made it out of that car crash. Four hours after that, when Taeyong's body failed him and Yuta came, too; when they were at the hospital and Yoonoh tried to touch Dongyoung; he knew.) He'd seen everyone in the car, but he was helpless; he couldn't put pressure on the wound on Mark's neck; he couldn't reach for sobbing, brutally awake Donghyuck. He couldn't do a thing; he had the most trauma from the accident, death or not.

Three months later, though, they had all kind of moved on. They were together, after all, and they had to figure some things out-- why they were there (which they'd just now realized; they were meant to protect their members), whether or not anyone else had died (they took a headcount at the dorm; no one else was injured-- no one else had even been there, which Mark had tried to tell everybody, but that was in the one month period that Sicheng was still in the hospital so there was a little bit of panic when no one could find Sicheng--dead or alive. He popped up three days later with tears on his angel cheeks), and whether or not they could communicate with the members (they tried a lot of different things-- lots of _stupid_  things; they only succeeded in scaring the hell out of Dongyoung when his phone flew off the table because of something Yuta did-- something he couldn't figure out how to do again). So, they had it all straightened out. Except--

"How do we protect them, though? Like-- guardian angels are there when they get into trouble. Right? So-- does that mean they're going to get into trouble?" Mark asked. Donghyuck scoffed, "Of course they're going to get into trouble-- especially our Dream members. They're dumb teenagers, just like us."

"We never did anything dumb," Mark defended. Donghyuck looked at him incredulously, " _We're dead!_ " and Mark waved his hands through the air, "That's not our fault! We were in an accident--" "--and neither of us had our seat-belts on! Some of us probably could have survived but-- but-- whatever-- point is, yes, we probably have to protect them from whatever danger they could get into-- whether it's their fault or not."

Argument: ended.

"So... should we maybe... assign ourselves to the members?" Taeil asked, a suggestion. "Like... I don't know... we each pick someone and assure that they're always safe?"

"That's not a bad idea... but how are we going to do that? Spend every second with them? What if we want to see each other? What if we can't even do anything for them? What if we don't have the skills-- what if we panic--?" Yuta stopped, "This is hard."

"This is hard." Taeil agreed. He sighed, "Okay. Well, the members aren't off by themselves too much-- almost never. We'll stick in pairs, at least, and watch over the members. We'll be able to meet each other while they sleep-- I can't imagine anything happening while they sleep."

"Do you think we'll get a warning? Like, a feeling or-- I don't know-- an alarm?" Mark asked. Donghyuck looked at him, disbelief written across his face, "Where the hell do you think we are? We're still on earth-- my God--"

"I don't know! Why do you think you know so much about being a guardian angel? Ever been dead before?" Mark asked. Donghyuck squinted. Taeyong quickly put himself between the two before they started going at each other, "Okay! Okay-- no fighting. For now, since we have no idea what's going to happen, we'll just stick together, okay? Pairs at a time-- Mark and Donghyuck will _not_  be a pair."

"Ah!" Donghyuck made a sound of protest; Mark, too. Taeyong looked between the two, lost. He looked at Taeil, who just shook his head, "Just let them-- they're already dead; they can't kill each other again."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Donghyuck found a way to make that possible." Yuta said, with a giggling Sicheng in his arms. Taeil looked at Donghyuck and Mark, a shrug in his shoulders, "Whatever. If you two die again, it's your fault."

  
**\- + -**

  
Splitting up was difficult. Keeping track of the members was difficult. Dongyoung went out by himself almost every day-- and when he wasn't out by himself, he was crying in his room, all locked up. (Yoonoh discovered the hard way that 1. Angels cannot walk through walls and that 2. Angels do still feel pain-- like that of which comes with slamming your face into a door.)

Ten ended up back home. He was terribly overwhelmed at the loss of half of his friends, and guilty for leaving, too. He'd cried talking to Youngho about it, thinking maybe he shouldn't go, maybe he should stay, tough it out; and Youngho had cried with him, holding onto him like a lifeline but telling him he should go anyway. So, there went Ten-- back to Thailand, and none of the seven dead men could think to go with him. Whether or not it was a good idea would have taken a while to mull over, and Ten left the very next day.

Kun ended up back home, too. Sicheng had cried when he followed Kun down to the main office at SM. Taeyong had to hold him as Kun talked about leaving the company. He cried when Kun talked about not coming back; he wouldn't consider it at this point. No, it had nothing to do with the company-- much, much more to do with the grief of losing his best friends. Sicheng had reached for him, sobbing "Don't leave-- don't leave--!" but Kun couldn't hear him, and Sicheng's sobs started tearing at his throat when his fingers phased right through Kun's shoulders. (His sobs ripped at Taeyong's heart, too; Taeyong, who could do nothing but stand and watch and hold Sicheng for the next couple days-- as Kun packed his things and headed back home.)

Everyone else stayed in Korea, at least. Chenle and Renjun briefly discussed going back to China, which had Sicheng crying again; but then the two of them had cried over Sicheng (and Taeyong really wondered why the hell he was caught in so much sadness; he should have been Taeil's partner); and they decided they should stay in Korea, as they didn't have enough money to go home anyway-- and, if they did, they wouldn't have any money or much desire to come back. What were they to do, anyway, without a leader? Without a mood maker? NCT-Dream just didn't seem right without Mark and Donghyuck.

(Dongyoung cried over NCT-U every day, mumbling to himself that four of the NCT-U members were dead and he wasn't sure if the other was going to come back from Thailand. He muttered about how he didn't blame Ten, or Kun; if he lived in another country, he would go back home and never look at South Korea again. He talked to Youngho about ditching the country and going to America-- "I can learn English," or running off to China with Kun-- "I studied hard for Winwin--" but Youngho talked him through it-- "It'll be okay; don't cry; we'll be fine; they'd want us to continue this; we can't let NCT die; we at least have to stay and support the kids--" and it all got to Dongyoung; the last part, especially. He didn't make any more runaway plans after that.)

Mark and Donghyuck had a hard time watching after the dream members. They had Taeil there to help; he chose to watch over Jeno more than anyone, as Mark and Donghyuck promised to handle Jisung and Jaemin while Taeyong and Sicheng watched Chenle and Renjun. Taeil also watched Hansol, who didn't hang around the Dream members too much-- didn't really hang around anyone except for Youngho anymore; and Dongyoung, by chance, because of how much he clung to Youngho, too. So, really, Mark and Donghyuck had to watch Jeno most of the time, too. But that was okay-- Jeno and Jaemin were glued to each other, and Jisung was either with the two of them or Chenle and Renjun; the Dream members were easy to keep track of. Heartbreaking-- as their hearts broke more each and every day. They looked at pictures of Donghyuck and Mark and played videos and cried. It was all very ironic, because they would cry over dead Mark and dead Donghyuck and their dead relationship-- their dead bickering and dead love, while Mark and Donghyuck would be bickering in the very same room over the very same trivial things in the videos. The two of them had cried together-- with Mark's eyes in Donghyuck's shoulder and Donghyuck full-blown _sobbing_  into the open air. It was hard to watch the Dream members crumble; it was hard to watch everyone crumble. But all they could do watch; and they _had to_  watch. They were guardian angels.

They had a meeting one night-- a month of tears and headaches and trying not to break down every second later. Their members were all asleep-- safe, in bed. Jaemin had fallen asleep quite early-- _quite_  early. It was only about 6:00, but he'd been exhausted. From practice, from grief, from tears and _exhaustion_. He fell asleep on Jeno's chest, which had Jeno trapped for hours until he fell asleep, too. Jisung joined them in their room; he climbed up to the top bunk, which used to be Donghyuck's. The bottom bunk was actually Renjun's, but he moved to sleep with Chenle, who used to share with Jisung and Mark. The two of them slept in Mark's bed.

And then there was Dongyoung, who locked himself in Ten's room-- one he'd shared with Youngho-- and cried for hours and hours, and he didn't listen to the soft knocking of Youngho as he asked if he could come in, if he was okay. He roomed with Hansol, and they talked late into the night about Dongyoung, about the kids, and they ended up falling asleep together-- on separate beds.

The seven dead men had their meeting outside of Youngho's room-- occupied by still-crying Dongyoung. Yoonoh had his head against the door, his eyes closed, softly rubbing the wood-- as if rubbing Dongyoung's back. Yuta sat across from him, with his ankle touching Yoonoh's-- silent comfort. As partners in this whole 'guardian angel' thing, they'd gotten quite good at comforting each other-- with Yoonoh's heart breaking for Dongyoung every day and Yuta's pining for Hansol every second. All they needed was a touch and they could tolerate the pain.

Beside Yoonoh, Taeil was touching his shoulder-- another little pat of comfort that he was so good at. Dongyoung loved the way Taeil comforted-- a simple pat on the back or touch of the shoulder and Taeil could comfort anyone. Next to Taeil, Taeyong. Across from Taeil, Donghyuck. Across from Taeyong, Mark. Next to Taeyong, Sicheng. They sat and they talked--

"So, this is a little difficult." Donghyuck said. He tapped his feet against the ground, and he scoffed with his next comment, "Very uneventful, too. I haven't even seen any danger-- just a whole lot of tears. I'm starting to think the place is going to turn into a waterfall and we're going to have to save everyone from drowning."

"I think so, too." Yuta muttered, only he wasn't joking. Donghyuck let out a little laugh, like Yuta was, but then he looked at Yuta's face and his laughter died, with a little cough at the end. He looked down at the ground, and awkward silence filled the spaces between them. Donghyuck continued to tap his feet-- silent. Yoonoh was the one to break through the heavy, awkward atmosphere-- only to replace it with a sad one--

"I think I want to watch Dongyoung by myself." Yoonoh muttered. He opened his eyes to look at Yuta, "I'm sorry. But I think I should just...."

"Me, too. Hansol, I mean-- I think I should watch Hansol myself." Yuta said, his voice a strained mutter. Silence fell across them again; and finally Taeyong spoke up, optimistic and sweet, "Guys, I-- listen, I know it's sad to see them like this, but I think-- I think we shouldn't let it get to us. We're allowed to grieve over our deaths and we're allowed to feel for our members but-- they need us. They need us more than this-- they need us _better_  than this. We can't let ourselves be depressed."

Silence followed; Taeyong was nervous. He hadn't been sure if the words were the right ones; he wasn't even 100% about the guardian angel thing, but he would say what he could-- do what he could-- in order to make his members feel better.

"You're right," Sicheng muttered, easing some of Taeyong's nerves. He was easily the most depressed of them all-- with Yoonoh and Yuta coming in close second. He was silent-- always was, but he hadn't even tried to communicate lately. Taeyong was extremely surprised to hear him speak then, but relieved all the same. He turned to Sicheng, half-expecting him to say something more, but he didn't. However, the prompt of words from the saddest member prompted them from another, "Yeah. You are."

Yuta followed are Yoonoh, "Yeah.... We've got each other, right?"

"And we're stuck until we figure out how to actually die." Taeil said, and they burst into laughter at that. Yoonoh laughed his tears away; Yuta covered his mouth. Donghyuck and Mark were plenty ready to start laughing; and Taeyong, too. Sicheng's laugh was only a soft chuckle, but it was something. Taeil thought they were all crazy, because what he said was only a touch of humor and, usually, they wouldn't even laugh. But he let himself laugh a bit, too, because he understood. They'd all been so tense; they'd all been so sad. They were ready for laughter; and they laughed and laughed and laughed just to hear each other laughing. They laughed and laughed and laughed and they drowned out the sound of Dongyoung crying.

 

 

 **FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE ACCIDENT**.  
The first time the seven of them had to actually act like guardian angels, there was a warning. That warning came in the form of a major headache-- one that only Sicheng had to deal with, and flashes of lights behind his eyes. He yelled out his pain all of a sudden-- somewhere between watching Youngho and watching the movie he was watching, and Taeyong went rushing to him. Sicheng heard a name, and he spat it out, "D--Dongyoung," and Taeyong rubbed his shoulders, "What? What happened?" and Sicheng let out a sob, "It hurts, it hurts--" and Taeyong knew. He felt something tingle in the tips of his fingers; his senses heightened and his ears were ringing. Something was going on.

"What is it? Sicheng, where is he?" Taeyong asked, gripping Sicheng's shoulders. No more than three seconds after he asked, another voice was heard-- somewhere down the hall. Heavy footsteps; Yuta was running into the room, dragging Taeil with him, "He's walking. He's by himself-- it's the _middle of the night_. What the hell is he doing?"

"He's going to get _mugged_ , that's what he's doing." Yoonoh said in a panic; running down the hall, throwing on the jacket he'd died in. He gestured for them, "Come on!" and Mark and Donghyuck were suddenly there, too, with Mark shouting "We have four minutes!" and then everyone was booking it, blindly running. Donghyuck led the way, "He's around here! He's around here!" and they trusted him. They found Dongyoung leaning against the wall, with Mark crying out "Thirty seconds! Thirty-- twenty-nine--" and they saw the man they assumed was going to hurt him. Taeyong's fingers twitched upon looking at him-- that had to be him. Taeil, who had been quiet the whole time, pushed Yoonoh forward, "Go to Dongyoung!" and Yoonoh didn't even question it, just did what he was told. Taeil grabbed onto Taeyong and took off with him, leaving the other four behind. Yoonoh put himself in front of Dongyoung, wondering if he was even going to be able to do anything. Taeil dragged Taeyong to a fire hydrant nearby, and they struggled a bit, but they managed to open the thing up-- and it all but _exploded_ , knocking over the man that was heading toward Dongyoung-- _five seconds_  lay in Mark's mind, with fear in his numb limbs. Dongyoung was taken back by the sudden burst of water, but Yoonoh took the painful part of it; Dongyoung only got wet. Dongyoung gasped a bit as he was stumbling away from the gush of water. He stopped when he was out of the water's path, with his mouth gaping and his eyes wide. He shook off his phone, with a disappointed sigh of "What the hell--?" and he began to walk away after another second of staring at the water, with confusion and disappointment in his stance. Taeyong and Taeil were quick to follow him; Yoonoh was already stuck to him. The other four walked, too, with shaky legs and heavy breaths.

Later, when Dongyoung was home, showered, and safe, the seven of them discussed what the hell had just happened.

"I felt it. Like-- I felt the danger. When Sicheng starting seeing Dongyoung-- when I looked at that man-- I knew." Taeyong said, keeping his voice quiet; Sicheng was still nursing his headache, but he spoke softly about it anyway, "I-I saw him... felt it... so much pain, I-- think Dongyoung-hyung might have gotten hit over the head if we didn't save him."

"So you know that there's danger-- you know what's dangerous. Sicheng knows who's in danger and the pain they'll feel if we don't stop it." Taeil counted out, and everyone made a mental note of the progress. He added his own, "I-I saw the hydrant exploding. I think-- I knew it had to blow up. I knew the water would knock him down, make Dongyoung go home. I knew he would get hurt if Yoonoh didn't take it for him. I think-- I know how to stop it."

"I know how much time there is-- before they get hurt. I had a countdown going in my head the whole time." Mark said. Donghyuck added his part, "I knew where Dongyoung-hyung was. I knew exactly where he was. I didn't see it, but my gut led me there."

"I knew he was going to get mugged. I saw it happening. It was just silhouettes, but I saw him get grabbed by the collar, saw the man walking away with money." Yoonoh said. His voice was full of anger, fingers gripping at his jeans. His heart was still racing from the panic-- Dongyoung getting hurt wasn't something he wanted to think about. Yuta was the last to add his part, distracting Yoonoh for long enough-- "I knew what he was doing. He was walking. He was on his phone. He was by himself-- that's all I knew."

"So we're a team. We work together to piece the scenario together. You were right, Mark. For once." Donghyuck said. Mark might have punched him if not for the smile on his face. He just grumbled in Donghyuck's direction and quieted down when Taeyong spoke, "So we need to stay together. We came really close last night; we have to stick together and act fast from now on. Okay?"

"Okay," everyone chorused-- even Sicheng, who had to bury his head in Taeyong's neck after the heightened noise. Taeyong carefully took him into his arms and made his chest a pillow for Sicheng, allowing the angel to fall asleep. The seven of them had found that they didn't have to sleep, but they _could_ ; and Sicheng often did, tormented by pain he had to feel and pain he wasn't going to forget. (Taeyong felt so awful for him; he wished he could take it all away.)

"This is exciting." Yuta said all of a sudden, with a big smile on his face. He'd been getting better about smiling in the past couple of months, "I've always wanted to work in a field of saving people. It's thrilling-- fulfilling."

Yuta was practically boucing out of his seat-- which wasn't actually a seat, just a spot on the floor near Youngho's feet. Taeyong nodded softly, "But we do have to be really, really cautious. These are our band members-- our grieving band members. They are going to do some stupid things and if we aren't careful about protecting them they could get seriously hurt. I love them, and I miss them, but I do not want to see any of them join us."

They all nodded in agreement. Donghyuck added a small comment of "Dying was scary," and Sicheng added, "It was painful," and Mark muttered "I really miss food," and Donghyuck reached over to whack him on the back of the head. Taeil put himself between the two, grabbing both of their wrists, "Hey, hey, sentimental moment. Serious moment. I also miss food. And clothing. And showers. We may not smell or get hungry or tired but being human is still better than this, no matter what little powers we have to save our members. Remember that the stuff we're going to protect them from probably wouldn't happen if we weren't all dead. Remember that we're only here right now because our members are grieving. After this, we don't know what will happen. We have to keep them alive, and well; because we don't want anyone else to be as scared and unsure as we are right now."

The words had everyone fall silent-- biting at lips and picking at nails, tears welling up and threatening to fall. It had been a while since any of them truly cried; two months was a long time to go. Even Dongyoung had stopped crying every night. But Taeil added, in a soft, just-in-case tone, "I don't want you guys to be scared, either, but I just want you to know. We have to be cautious. We can't let anyone else die, or get hurt."

"Yes, hyung," they all chorused-- except for Sicheng, who was asleep by now. Taeil didn't worry about reminding him that no one else could die; he felt the true pain of being an angel and Taeil knew Sicheng wasn't about to let anyone else go through what he was going through.

"So, deal? We'll take this seriously?" Taeil asked, putting his hand in the center. Everyone joined-- even Sicheng, because his fingers were linked with Taeyong's, and they gave a small cheer as to not wake Sicheng up. They could do this.

 

 

 **ELEVEN MONTHS AFTER THE ACCIDENT**.  
"We are the _worst_  guardian angels-- _where the hell are my shoes?_ " Yuta fumbled for his sneakers. Donghyuck was running around trying to figure out where the hell Mark was--they really needed a time frame to know what kind of schedule they were on. Jisung _and_  Chenle were in danger-- a big jump from Dongyoung almost getting mugged to Hansol almost tumbling off of a cliff to Youngho almost buying a pack of cigarettes to Jaemin almost falling off the top bunk. There were different levels of severity to each of the dangers-- Dongyoung could have gotten a concussion; Hansol could have died; Youngho would have had some long-term problems; Jaemin would have broken his arm. Jisung and Chenle were in danger of who-knows-what; Yuta and Taeyong were the only conscious ones. Sicheng was in so much pain; he could hardly say Jisung and Chenle's names.

" _MARK LEE IF YOU DON'T COME OUT HERE_ \--" Donghyuck started screaming as he ran into the room, his gut already tugging him in certain directions. Mark scrambled into the room a moment later-- eyes puffy with sleep, hair an absolute mess, "What? What happened? T--twenty minutes-- what's going on--?"

"We have to take a _bus_ , you ass! Get out of here-- hurry up-- we have like three minutes to get on the bus--" and Donghyuck pulled Mark out, and Taeyong and Sicheng were quick to follow-- then Taeil, and Yuta, and Yoonoh; and they sprinted to the bus stop and they all clambered on the bus. Mark almost got locked outside, but he made it through the door quickly. (Good thing he was skinny-- and dead, else he might have just died. Again.)

"Eighteen minutes." Mark said, a little out of breath. Unfortunately, being an angel didn't make one immune to exhaustion by running or other forms of exercise. It gave enough adrenaline to run without being tired during the act, but after the rush of saving someone, they all collapsed in a messy pile of _Jesus Christ-- I can't even open my eyes_. It had been bad about two months ago, when they had to chase Hansol around the heart of Seoul because he was trying to find a place to relax-- ended up on the edge of a goddamn cliff. Sicheng nearly passed out from the pain he felt; they actually had to leave him behind after he rasped out "Hansol-hyung--" and they returned to find him actually passed out. (Yoonoh freaked out for an irrational moment, thinking Sicheng was dead. Donghyuck had to pinch him and remind him "We're all dead, hyung; he's just sleeping.")

"Thirteen minutes," Mark said after some time. Donghyuck tapped his foot against the ground. They were getting closer; he could feel it. He sighed with worry and impatience. Mark muttered, "Twelve minutes," and Donghyuck sighed heavy again, "Why do the members keep getting into trouble? I thought they were smarter than this."

"They're sad and vulnerable. Dongyoung still cries every week because we're all dead." Yoonoh said. He choked up a bit at the statement; he crossed his arms over his chest, "As far as he knows, he's never going to see us again. He misses us so much-- do you know that? They all do. We... they can't talk to us. As long as they're alive, we're never going to be able to talk to them. They're sad."

"I know," Donghyuk muttered, gently flicking at the metal pole beside him, "I am, too."

Yoonoh tilted his head down, tilted his hat further down on his face, and sniffled. Taeyong reached over to rub his back while Yoonoh sobbed out a bit. He rubbed his eyes when Mark muttered a sad "Eight minutes," and he looked up, "We're fine. I'm fine. We're all okay-- it's almost been a year. Ten hasn't come back, but.... Dongyoung is okay. Youngho is okay. Hansol is okay. The kids are okay. They released a new music video and everything."

"I watched it with Hansol-- it was good. They did great." Taeyong smiled, "Jeno's the new leader-- he's going a great job. They talked about us in an interview. I didn't see it all-- Jaemin stopped watching after a couple minutes--"

"Six minutes." Mark interrupted softly-- an update. Donghyuck's stomach tugged again, but it wasn't telling him to move anywhere. It was telling him to stay planted-- not time yet. His feet still tapped in nervous anticipation.

"--but they're doing great." Taeyong finished off with a nod, a smile, "They're doing really great."

"I'm proud of them." Mark said, a smile. He tapped his fingers together, "I hope Hansol-hyung, Johnny-hyung and Dongyoung-hyung form a unit. They-- four minutes-- they'd be an interesting unit. If Ten comes back... they'll be unstoppable, I think. Our strongest unit."

"They'd definitely be interesting." Taeyong said, focusing his mind on it for a moment. Mark muttered "Three minutes," and their eyes started to float around, worried. They'd never gotten this close without Donghyuck at least having a feeling of where they needed to go. Donghyuck's feet were keeping him planted; his instincts weren't telling him to go anywhere. Mark looked at him; Sicheng groaned, a sob escaping his mouth. Taeyong grabbed for him, and he looked at the driver, and his fingers went numb. He dropped Sicheng's heavy body-- heavy with pain and quickly picked up by Yuta, who gasped-- "The bus!" and Mark shouted "Two minutes!" at the same time and Taeil was scrambling to his feet, shoving Donghyuck, "The button! The button! Request for a stop!" and Donghyuck whirled around as he looked for it. Mark shouted-- "One minute!" and Sicheng screamed in pain. Yuta and Yoonoh looked at each other in horror, because they realized they hadn't said a word about what they knew. Yoonoh didn't say a thing about seeing a bus hit two kids; Yuta didn't say a thing about seeing them walk in the street.

The sound came quick, when Mark shouted "Thirty seconds!" and the bus came to a slow halt. Donghyuck began to race off the bus, with the rest of the seven tripping over themselves to get off. The bus riders looked around in confusion; they had no idea who hit the button or who was supposed to get off. Donghyuck began to run-- run, run, run because his instincts were telling him they needed to get to the boys. Mark shouted "Forty seconds!" and that alarmed them all, because the time _never_  went up. They spotted Chenle and Jisung on the sidewalk, giggling about something and looking at one of their phones. They began to step into the road, and Yoonoh screamed "The cars!" and Taeil started to shout "Throw something at them! Oh my God-- Taeyong--" and Taeyong was already whipping off his watch to chuck at Jisung's head-- last resort, really. It ended up bouncing off his shoulder, and he stepped back up onto the sidewalk, with a brief gasp as he found the object sitting on the ground. He pulled Chenle by the wrist half a second before a car zoomed right by them both, but neither of them seemed to notice or care, because they were busy picking up the watch with a wonder of "Taeyong-hyung?" and their eyes wandered around, big and curious. Tears came to Jisung's eyes as he studied the watch in his palm, "I-- it's just like Taeyong-hyung's," and Chenle pouted a bit, his lips quivering. Taeyong's shoulders fell; he didn't want to make them upset. (At least they were alive, he thought.)

"Let's go." Donghyuck breathed softly. They crowded the boys as they made their way home. They were silent as Jisung and Chenle talked about Taeyong-- about the little nick on the back of the watch and the tiny initials-- _'TY'_ \-- that Donghyuck had playfully carved into the side. Jisung turned it over in his palms and wondered, "This can't be a coincidence, right?" and Chenle shook his head, "It-- it can't be..." and Taeyong wished he could reach for them, ease their wonder, assure them that they were right there. He wished they had an option to be seen by whoever they wanted to be seen by. He wished, and he wished.

The breathing boys curled up in bed together when they got home, not even bothering to put the food they'd bought away. They left it on the counter to spoil and continued to talk about Taeyong, shedding a few tears but laughing over his watch. Most of the angels settled around the dorm; Donghyuck and Mark stay with Chenle and Jisung, especially shaken by their Dream members nearly dying-- twice. Taeyong collapsed with Sicheng as close to the front door as he could-- which meant the couch. Yuta stay with them, looking as though he wanted to say something. Yoonoh escaped to find Dongyoung; Taeil escaped to find peace in whatever it was that he was affected by-- maybe all of it, maybe none of it.

"Do you think we can keep doing this?" Yuta asked Taeyong, eyeing Sicheng as he said it. "I mean... I know we're okay now. We like to make jokes, but-- this is getting to us. Yoonoh and I didn't even coordinate with you guys-- all of us forgot. Sicheng's suffering and I'm scared this isn't going to end. I'm scared we're going to mess up and one of our members will die, or get hurt, or something-- I'm terrified. Do-- do you think we can keep doing this, Tae?"

Taeyong wasn't sure how to answer the question. He wasn't sure of the answer; he honestly did not know if they could keep this up. Yuta made some good points: Sicheng was exhausted-- barely talked anymore-- haunted by everything he felt, and they were all getting too comfortable with this. They couldn't read each other's minds; they only knew what they knew and they were starting to forget to lay their knowledge on the table or ask for it in the first place. Taeyong was starting to forget how to be a leader, distracted by the way he had to comfort Sicheng and wished-- just _wishing_  this would all go away. He longed to be alive again; he was sure they all would. And the longing was going to get the best of them one day, he thought. But--

"For them?" Taeyong asked, tilting his head toward Jisung and Chenle's room-- and, of course, the others were included in the gesture. Hansol, Youngho, Dongyoung, Jeno, Renjun, Jaemin-- even Ten and Kun-- everyone. _For them_ , "Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, nct explained the concept of the fire truck music video in the mv commentary, and I thought it was really cool so that's where the inspiration for the mess you just read came from. (also: I had no idea how else to write a one shot based on fire truck.)


	5. Once Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _summer noon_  
>  Taeil was late for work and Mark was late for a date.  
> [au]: summer vibes + coffee shops  
> ♡ mark and jaehyun; ♡ taeyong and taeil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this seems a little incomplete and to be honest it probably is but I'm the worst at writing slice-of-life / college aus, so this is as good as it's gonna get

**06:43 A.M., PROLOGUE**  
Moon Taeil woke with a start, and he had three new bruises on his lower body by the end. He crashed out of bed (note: the top bunk) and took his phone with him-- headphones and all. His roommate, Seo Youngho, sat up quickly in alarm, but he smacked his head on the top bunk, so he wasn't much help for a good twenty seconds. They both lay there moaning, trying to get ahold of themselves. Youngho sat up first, but Taeil scrambled to his feet about a second later-- so who was faster, really?

"You okay, dude?-- Hyung!" Youngho corrected himself quickly. (He'd been sleeping over-- waking up-- at Mark's place too often, lately.) He rubbed his eyes and reached for Taeil, hand landing on his elbow. Taeil looked at the clock and practically ripped his arm away from Youngho as he jogged toward the bathroom-- "No-- I am _not_  okay--" Taeil called back. He slid into the bathroom, but he had socks on-- so, yes, he did crash into the edge of the sink. There was a new bruise on his hip, but bruises took a while to form, anyway, and he was _so_  not set on the pain at that point. He went through brushing his teeth and fixing his hair at the same time, even though fixing his hair wasn't necessary, because his uniform-- for a job that he was _almost an hour late to_ \-- called for a hat, anyway. But-- oh well. He had a major crush on his co-worker, who Taeil kind of hoped would kick his ass today, and he'd like to look good, even if he went skating in there in a mess of backwards clothes and apologies. His hair could at least look good if the rest of him was going to be a damn mess.

"I've got to go-- no breakfast, but I'll bring you lunch!" Taeil called, quick to check on Youngho before he left. He threw his shoes on, gave Youngho a hug, and then jogged out of he house-- wallet in pocket, headphones still attached to his phone, keys in hand. He threw himself into his car and raced down the street, stress settling into his bones. He pulled up at Lee's Coffee shop at--

 

  
**07:00 A.M.**  
Lee Taeyong sat on the counter of the coffee shop in which he worked, gently kicking his feet back and forth as he waited for the time to come to open up. He was slightly annoyed that his co-worked hadn't come in an hour early, like he'd promised to. The two of them were the only ones working the morning shift, and Taeyong could have used some help setting up, but he could honestly say he didn't care much. Moon Taeil was... cute, in a way. He wasn't exactly cute, but he wasn't exactly _hot_ , but he wasn't exactly awkward. He was a dash of everything, which created _perfection_ , so Taeyong could never be mad at him. He especially couldn't be mad when Taeil came crashing through the back door at 7:00 on the dot, with his hair a little wild and his eyes _very_  wild. He grabbed for his apron and rushed out his words, "Taeyong! Taeyong, I'm _so_ , so sorry I'm late--"

Taeyong smiled at him, and Taeil stopped. The slight annoyance that Taeyong had felt shot right out the window, and he stopped Taeil from speaking, "It's alright, hyung. You're right on time, actually."

"I was supposed to help you set up." Taeil said, gulping against his guilt. _Yes, you were_ , Taeyong thought, but he couldn't be mad-- not at all, because Taeil looked so apologetic and he looked so... _good_. There was something about him that made Taeyong's heart bounce in his chest-- but in _such_  a comfortable way, like the skips of his heart were natural. Taeyong was obviously in love; he'd fallen for Taeil through winter and autumn, and now summer was heating his emotions. He couldn't be mad at all; he could only smile through Taeil's ramble of apologies, "I-it's so much to do by yourself-- did you do it all? Do you need me to do anything? I'll do it as fast as possible--"

Taeil could have gone on forever if Taeyong didn't laugh-- amused and in love, and hold out a hand for Taeil to take, telling him, "Really, hyung, it's okay. Yes, I got it all done-- _no_ , I'm not mad or anything. It wasn't even that much."

"It totally was. You just don't want me to feel guilty." Taeil said. Yes, that was true; but that was also okay. So Taeyong just shrugged-- didn't agree or disagree, "I do particularly hate it when you feel bad."

"You're amazing. Thank you." Taeil said. He finished tying his apron and hugged Taeyong-- he liked hugs, Taeyong had discovered. He didn't seem like the type of person to like hugs-- and he would swallow a handful of coins before he hugged a stranger, but once he got close to people, it was like being friends with a cuddly teddy bear-- he hugged as a greeting and he hugged when he said goodbye and he hugged when he was happy and it was the best habit Taeyong had ever known a human being to have.

"I'll work the register today." Taeil offered as he was pulling away from the hug, reaching over the back counter to grab his hat. He squished it easily over his hair, and he looked flawless in doing so, somehow. Taeil turned back to look at Taeyong, smile on his lips, "As a proper thank you, of course. I know how much we both hate it."

"Actually, I think I hate it a lot less." Taeyong chuckled. He hopped down from the counter, phone slipping into his back pocket. It was five minutes past opening time and neither of them had actually bothered to _open up_  yet. Taeyong had seen a couple confused faces walk around the shop already; he thought they should get started soon. He headed toward the register, "I'll work it today-- you've been doing it all week."

"No, no, really, I can do it. Please let me-- you've already done like half of my job. And you're a lot better at making the coffee." Taeil said. Taeyong shrugged, "Actually, I think your coffee is really amazing, hyung--" and he smiled at the little smile that came to Taeil's face. He pat Taeil's shoulder, "Just go open up, okay? I'll work the register for first half-- you can work it second half."

"Perfect." Taeil agreed, and he moved to the door to open up-- flip the _Closed_  sign to _Open_  and rush back behind the counter as some people began to come in. Their coffee shop was the busiest on the block-- the best, really. Taeil liked to joke with Taeyong and tell him that, because he was the owner's son, and because he worked here often, he brought all the people in-- all kinds of girls that gushed over him and even some guys that couldn't stop looking at him. Taeyong got shy when Taeil complimented his looks-- when anyone did, because he'd never cared much for looks. He hated to be known for his looks; he hated the thought of people spending money on coffee just because he looked good and they wanted to be close to him. (He did like that it was making his father money, though, so he really had no problem standing at the register and _'looking pretty'_ to keep his father's shop running.)

"And one Americano," Taeil announced-- half an hour after opening, when the line slowed down and the rush of the morning took a break. Taeyong looked at the coffee in his hand and frowned at Taeil, "Hyung, we didn't get an order for this," and Taeil nodded, "I know. It's yours," and Taeyong let out a sigh in-between a laugh, "Hyung, it's so unprofessional to drink coffee at the register--" and Taeil shrugged, "Switch me, then. We'll take little shifts," and Taeyong shook his head, but he let Taeil have his spot anyway. Working the register may not have been Taeil's favorite thing, but he was good at it; he greeted the customers with a smile and managed to talk with them a bit-- make them smile, too. Taeyong wished he was good at doing that.

 

  
**08:00 A.M.**  
Jung Yoonoh was nervous to walk into the coffee shop, but half of his nerves left with he noticed that Mark wasn't there yet-- only half, of course, because the two of them had planned to meet at-- oh. Yoonoh realized the message said 9:00, not 8:00, and he sighed. Good thing he'd brought his laptop, he thought. He'd just gotten out of his morning class-- didn't have another one until late afternoon. He was planning on going home when Mark messaged him--

  
**Mark**

Text Message  
07:47

hyung, could we talk, maybe?  
**read:** 07:47

do you want me to call you?  
**read:** 07:49

no. I kind of wanted to talk about... us  
like  
I'm sorry  
I know I'm the one who broke it off but I miss you  
**read:** 07:51

we're still friends....  
**read:** 07:52

I know  
I'm really grateful for that  
I love being your friend  
it's how I know you best  
but I kind of want to know you as a lover again  
I don't know  
I thought it was nice to be yours  
... was it nice for you, too?  
**read:** 07:54

it was  
but I don't think we're really ready for a relationship  
**read:** 07:56

this would be easier face-to-face  
please, can we just meet somewhere?  
Lee's, maybe?  
at 9:00?  
**read:** 07:57

okay  
**read:** 07:58

thank you, hyung  
**read:** 07:59

  
Yoonoh had kind of rushed to the coffee shop only to realize Mark didn't want to meet until 9:00. Good going, Yoonoh. But that did give him an hour to hop on his laptop and do some of his work-- an essay, some research. He could take some notes and study; he could ease his mind before all the nerves came crashing back down on him. He walked up to the counter first, half-expecting to know the person working the register-- but he was met with a slightly unfamiliar face. He'd seen the man working here before, but he didn't know him well.

"Hello. Um, could I have an Americano? And... uh, a muffin. Blueberry." Yoonoh said. The man was already typing out his order-- hitting buttons and bringing up his total. He was smiling, and he next words-- after reciting Yoonoh's total and a question of "Anything else?" were comforting-- "Rough morning?" and Yoonoh nodded a little, "Kind of. I don't know. I'm meeting someone here and I'm kind of horribly stressed about it."

"Ah-- someone we should worry about? Need me to keep an eye on you?" the man asked, and Yoonoh almost wanted to laugh-- trying to imagine Mark as any sort of dangerous was kind of amusing. He didn't quite laugh, however; he did pull a smile onto his lips. Before he answered, and while he was taking out his wallet, Yoonoh glanced at the man's name-tag; it made him more comfortable, knowing the man's name was Taeil (nice name, too), considering he was telling him a little too much, "No, nothing like that. Just... an ex that wants to be more than friends again. I... it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" Taeil asked, with a tiny smile to accompany. He took the money from Yoonoh's hand and began to count out his change, and Yoonoh let out a sigh, "It is," and he chuckled a little bit, accepting the change and the receipt. Taeil looked to him, "Uh, name? For the order?"

"Oh, uh-- Jaehyun." Yoonoh said; why he didn't like to give out his real name, he had no idea. But the mention of his name had a head peeking out from the shadows, and _there_  was the man Yoonoh knew. Lee Taeyong smiled, and he waved, and Yoonoh smiled back, waved back. Taeil looked behind him, his smile growing as he spotted Taeyong, but he made no further comments-- not until the next customer stepped up after Yoonoh (to whom he simply said "Hello--" and continued to take her order). Yoonoh decided to wait by the counter, because an Americano never took long; neither did the muffins. He was only standing there for maybe three minutes before Taeyong made a full appearance-- with Yoonoh's coffee and muffin in hand. He whispered something to Taeil, and Yoonoh watched the man walk away; and Taeyong turned his attention to Yoonoh. "Hey. What are you doing here--? you don't usually get coffee."

"Mark wanted to talk." Yoonoh muttered, taking the coffee and the muffin that Taeyong held out for him. He ignored the look on Taeyong's face as he took a sip of his coffee, humming at the flavor he hadn't had a chance to taste in a while. It was a bit difficult to ignore Taeyong's expression after a moment, because he asked-- "Mark? He-- about what?"

"Exactly what you're thinking." Yoonoh said. Taeyong pulled a smile onto his lips, "Well-- that's a good thing, right? You've been talking about wanting to get back together with him."

"Yeah. But now that I know he wants it... I don't know. The last time we both wanted to be together, it didn't really work out." Yoonoh said. He kind of felt like talking more-- easing some more nerves (because Taeyong was really, really good at taking his nerves away), but the bell rang, indicating someone else had stepped into the shop, and Taeyong was clearly on register duty, now. Yoonoh picked up his muffin, coffee already in hand. He waved Taeyong goodbye-- a good indicator that he didn't want or need Taeyong to say anything else. Taeyong gave him a simple smile and moved over to help the next customer, leaving Yoonoh with his thoughts and his action of finding a place to study. (He tucked himself into a corner-- a place Mark would easily find him-- and pulled out his laptop to begin.)

 

 **09:00 A.M.**  
Mark Lee was a good ten minutes away from the coffee shop-- and that was _if_  he ran. He got caught up in talking to Youngho again-- Youngho, who kept supporting his addiction to Yoonoh, who kept encouraging him to try again. ( _"He loved you before; he'll love you now." "But what if he doesn't, hyung? What if he's happy just being friends? I'm happy-- why should I risk it?" "Because you love him! Go for it, Mark, I know you two will be fine no matter what you decide to do."_ ) And so he agreed to make a move-- but his move was supposed to at least have started a good five minutes ago-- and this was _not_  a good way to make Yoonoh want him back.

He went rushing into the coffee shop at about 15 after 9:00, and he found Yoonoh exactly where he expected to find him (given that he'd shown up on time; he half expected Yoonoh to have left already). It made sense why Yoonoh was still there when Mark caught sight of him; he had two empty cups on his table and three muffin wrappers, and his eyes were darting from left to right on his laptop as he read over whatever was on his screen-- perhaps an article, something for research. Mark made his way to Yoonoh quickly, barely watching where he was going-- but luckily not hurting anyone in his path. He slid into the seat across from Yoonoh, gentle smile on his face. Yoonoh looked up, and he mirrored the smile, closing his laptop.

"Hi, hyung. You-- you look really good." Mark decided to comment-- that was a good start, right? It was a genuine compliment; Yoonoh was just wearing a pair of washed-out ripped jeans and a black shirt with some band logo on it, but he looked damn good. He looked especially amazing with his accessories-- a pair of white headphones (which he was now pulling out of his ears), a black hat, a silver necklace. Mark wished he looked half as good. He was dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, with a grey hoodie-- which was a stupid thing to wear during the summer and, yes, after jogging half of the way to the coffee shop, he was _burning up_. He was accessorized with absolutely nothing except for his book-bag-- which meant his hair was a flat mess because he never bothered to look good for his morning classes. He wished he looked as _'boyfriend material'_  as Yoonoh did, considering he wanted to _be Yoonoh's boyfriend_.

"Thanks." Yoonoh said quietly. He rolled his headphones over his fingers and tucked them away, and Mark hated how attractive that was. He hated how nice Yoonoh's arms looked, floating out of his black t-shirt. He hated how pretty Yoonoh's smile was. He hated himself for letting Yoonoh go.

Their relationship had been awkward; Mark wasn't the only one to blame. They were two best friends-- had been friends since Mark moved to Korea, back when he was fourteen. Yoonoh had taken Mark under his wing-- with a story of "I was born here in Korea, but I live in America for a while. It's fun here, I promise," and the two had been attached ever since. They grew up together; they fell in love together. But they were just so used to being best friends-- when they started to date, it didn't feel different, and that scared both of them. Were they doing it wrong? Were they ruining their friendship like this? Sure, they weren't necessarily supposed to be _friends_  if they were lovers, but friendship was a big part of falling in love, and they thought they were messing everything up. They thought their entire relationship-- in love and not in love-- was going to be thrown overboard if they didn't fall back to being friends -- because what kind of couple doesn't kiss in public? What kind of couple doesn't cuddle all the time? What kind of couple doesn't hold hands when they walked together? They were best friends; they felt like they were doing it wrong.

"I feel awkward," Mark started, and then he stopped because he was _burning up_ , and he just had to get himself out of his hoodie. He took off his backpack, and he pushed it onto the ground-- and then he messily began to take off his hoodie, got stuck in it halfway through, and groaned. He leaned back against the seat, and he was silent for a moment, and then he asked-- hopefully in Yoonoh's direction-- "Hyung? Could you-- could you help me?"

Yoonoh let out the sweetest little laugh, and Mark heard a shift of a chair, and then hands were on him-- gentle hands pulling him from his tangle hoodie. Yoonoh dropped Mark's hoodie on his lap when he was free, and proceeded to fix Mark's hair while he was standing there-- and then ruin it a bit by ruffling his fingers through it, fond. He took his seat back in front of Mark; and Mark's cheeks burned pink, embarrassed because he was trying to prove himself a good boyfriend and he couldn't seem to do that.

"You feel awkward?" Yoonoh brought Mark's first statement back up-- patient and ready to listen. Mark gulped, "Yeah-- yeah, I do. I feel like... uh.... I don't know. You know how you felt in our relationship, right? When we were dating-- it felt-- kind of like we weren't really... dating? Like, we were just too used to being friends."

Yoonoh nodded. Mark sat up a little straighter, "Okay. Well. I have a theory."

Yoonoh waited. Mark's throat felt dry all of a sudden, like he needed water; but he wasn't about to interrupt himself again to walk up to the counter and order something to drink, so he dove right back into his thoughts, "I think we just fell in love. Right, hyung? You fell in love with me, and I fell in love with you, and that's what we were used to. We acted like a couple before we even were one. We're just-- we're one of those couples that doesn't show a lot of affection-- and those totally do exist."

Yoonoh laughed a bit, "I know, I know," and he folded his fingers over the back of his hand. He looked down at the table, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, "Actually, I'd known that all along. But-- I always left it up to you. You asked me out, you broke up with me... I didn't want to talk it through, because I just wanted you to be comfortable. I didn't want you to have to go through the awkward phase I knew we would have."

"Hyung...." Mark muttered, half-disappointed, half-guilty. Yoonoh offered a nervous laugh, "I-- I'm sorry? I just-- I always wanted to take care of you, and I would have felt weird suggesting that we just wait it out, because I knew it would make you uncomfortable and I didn't want that. I was kind of selfish, I guess. I'm sorry."

"That's-- hyung, that's sweet, but...." Mark shrugged, trying to find the words, "Maybe you're right? Maybe I would have felt weird? But... yeah. Yeah, you were right-- in what you did, I think, but... now that I realize why our relationship was so awkward, and now that you realize I don't care if I feel awkward for a while... do you want to try again?"

"I was thinking about that a lot-- cause I came a little too early. I read 8:00 instead of 9:00," Yoonoh's lips formed a breathy laugh, "--but, I think... yes? I-I do want to try again, with you. I mean-- excuse my absolute cheesiness-- but I can't really imagine myself with anyone else. Don't want anyone else."

Mark could only smile at that, "Me neither, hyung. It's always been just the two of us."

"Exactly." Yoonoh smiled. He leaned back in his chair, and he smiled at Mark; and the two stay just like that for a little while. Smiles, and quiet blinking, but nothing awkward. Mark didn't reach for Yoonoh's hand; Yoonoh didn't feel tempted to kiss him, because their relationship didn't require a whole lot of physical affection. They would kiss each other goodbye and they might kiss each other in the mornings; they may hold hands in a crowded street to avoid losing each other; they would hug after not seeing each other for a while; they would cuddle when the stress was too much-- but this? This didn't require anything. Just a smile, an agreement-- _maybe_  a playful kick to the ankle as Yoonoh asked, "Do you want something to drink?"

"Y-yeah," Mark said, and Yoonoh nodded. He began to stand, pulling his wallet from his pocket. Mark protested right away, grabbing for his bag, "Oh! Hyung, no, I have my wallet--" but Yoonoh was next to him all of a sudden, gentle hand on the back of Mark's neck, pulling him up-- "No, no, I don't think so," and he capture Mark beneath his arm once he was up, and he dragged Mark to the counter just like that-- arm around Mark's shoulder. The two walked up to-- Mark read the man's name tag, _Taeil_ \-- and stood in front of him for a moment, with Yoonoh asking, quietly, "What do you want, babe?" and Mark's heart fluttering a bit at the pet name. He looked at Yoonoh with a smile-- just a quick glance in response to the statement, and he studied the menu for a minute, "Uh... latte? Caramel."

"One caramel latte," Taeil said, looking down at the screen to punch in the order. He looked back up, "Anything else?" and Yoonoh glanced back at the table. Taeil started to laugh-- "I might have to cut you off, soon, if you plan on ordering another Americano," and Yoonoh laughed with him, "No, no, I'm all good. Mark, do you want anything else? The muffins are _really_  good."

"Which kind?" Mark asked. Yoonoh looked at the table again, "Uh... all three of them. I had one of each."

"I think you ate enough for both of us, then." Mark said. Yoonoh shoved him away with an amused scoff, and Mark laughed as he stumbled away a few steps. Yoonoh looked at Taeil, "He'll have a blueberry muffin-- order for Jaehyun," and Mark returned to Yoonoh's side as he was pulling out money to pay. Mark leaned up to kiss his jaw-- because he was there and it was a couple thing to do, and he felt a little awkward doing it; and Yoonoh just glanced at him in response, a silent laugh falling from his lips-- and Mark decided he wasn't going to do that again. (He had to remind himself not to force typical couple things onto the two of them; they were _not_  a typical couple.)

 

( **12:00 P.M., EPILOGUE**  
"And the day is over! Dongyoung is right outside and Ten should be here any minute--" Taeyong let out a little breath, a sigh of relief as he looked at Taeil. The two were in the back, cleaning up. Dongyoung was going to take over as soon as he came in-- which he did about five seconds later, greeting Taeil and Taeyong quickly before moving on, slapping a hat over his hair and tying his apron behind his back. He took register duty right away; Taeyong stay in his uniform until Kun got there a minute later.

"The day is over indeed." Taeil said. He packed away his hat and his apron, and his ruffled his hair to fix it. He noticed the way Taeyong was looking at him, and he smiled, because he saw some of himself in those eyes. And then Taeyong was looking down at his phone, typing out a message.

  
**Jaehyun**

Text Message  
12:04

So? Did everything go well with Mark?

  
Taeyong pocketed his phone, ready to say something else to Taeil-- but then his phone buzzed and he really hated to ignore a message.

  
**Jaehyun**

yes  
we're back together  
**read:** 12:05

Good!  
I hope it works out this time  
You're an amazing couple  
**read:** 12:06

thank you, hyung  
what about you and your co-worker?  
Taeil?  
**read:** 12:07

  
Taeyong glanced up at Taeil, who was-- luckily-- occupied by Dongyoung. The two were talking as Dongyoung made someone's coffee. Taeyong jumped when the back door opened, but it was just Kun coming in to take over Dongyoung's place at the register-- take another customer's order. He slanted away as Kun walked by, nervous that Kun would see his phone even though the two weren't very close-- and, in fact, Kun didn't know Taeil at all-- why would he say anything to Taeil, even if he saw? Taeyong shook himself out of his paranoid thoughts.

  
We're friends  
**read:** 12:08

so are mark and I  
**read:** 12:09

Well. Yeah, okay, but we're only friends.  
Seriously.  
He's kind of too good for me.  
**read:** 12:10

hyung, you think the cheese in the back of your fridge is too good for you  
go for him, okay?  
he likes you  
I can tell  
even Mark can tell  
**read:** 12:12

Does Mark even know Taeil?  
**read:** 12:13

no  
but he can tell  
I can tell, hyung!! -mark  
see?  
**read:** 12:14

um  
I'm scared  
**read:** 12:15

don't be  
**read:** 12:15

That's easier said than done.  
**read:** 12:16

yeah  
but I was scared today  
and now what do I have?  
a really silly boyfriend  
(mark took offense to this)  
**read:** 12:17

I could try, I guess  
I'm still scared  
**read:** 12:18

ask him out  
ask  
him  
out  
ask him out  
ask  
**read:** 12:19

Okay! Okay!  
I'll ask him out.  
Stop texting me, he's looking at me.  
**read:** 12:20

  
Yoonoh actually stopped messaging Taeyong; but Taeil didn't stop looking at Taeyong. He had a smile on his face and a friendly hand gesturing Taeyong forward. Taeyong followed the suggestion, and he ended up with an Americano in his left hand and a muffin in front of his mouth. Although confused at the gesture, Taeyong took a bite of the muffin-- and Taeil let out a pleasant laugh.

"I've been wanting to suggest this for a while, but... I think we should go on a date." Taeil said. Taeyong's jaw might have dropped open if he wasn't busy chewing the bite of blueberry muffin he had between his teeth. His eyes did go wide, though; and Taeil averted his gaze, "I... I've liked you for a little while now, so. If you don't want to, I understand--"

"I-- I was going to ask you." Taeyong said. Taeil looked up, an eyebrow raised, "You-- right now--?" and Taeyong laughed, " _Yes_ , right now, hyung-- I'm-- I was actually _just_  going to ask. I-I'd love to go on a date."

Taeil's next smile would be painted into Taeyong's memory for the rest of his life, probably, "Perfect.")


	6. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _right now_  
>  Life is easier to live if you get caught in the rhythm.  
> [au]: runaways  
> ♡ winwin x yuta

The familiar buzz of a notification from Twitter, from a text message, from Instagram had all become rather faint in Dong Sicheng's ears. He remembered when his phone used to blow up-- he was so popular in high school. He had countless friends and countless acquaintances-- countless boyfriends and countless girlfriends-- countless followers and countless love. Now, though, with his number changed and all of his accounts switched, deleted, deactivated, inactive; he rarely heard the sound anymore. It was damn near a ghost of a noise when it suddenly came back-- a small _bing!_  of notification and a slight vibration in Sicheng's pocket. Sicheng might have flinched if he still got scared easily, but he simply pulled his phone out, curious, allowing his mind to wander from the book he was reading.

 **Instagram**  
nakayuta just posted for the first time in a while

Sicheng quirked an eyebrow in interest, taking a peek at the man sitting next to him. Nakamoto Yuta was scrolling through his phone, but he peeked, too, when he noticed Sicheng looking at him from the corner of his eye. Sicheng glanced toward his phone-- a gesture, and Yuta shrugged, indicating that he wanted Sicheng to find out for himself. And so he did; he clicked on the notification, punched in the simple password that would have his phone unlocking, and then the picture was in front of him.

It both did and didn't surprise Sicheng that he was looking at a picture of himself-- a picture taken from Yuta's point of view. In the photograph, Sicheng had his book open-- thin little thing balanced in one hand, and he was reading. His headphones were on; he had yet to pull them off. He looked comfortable in his pink hoodie, thin blue jacket over it. It was obvious they were in a car; the window was visible behind Sicheng's head, the seatbelt was visible across his lap, his latte was visible in the cup holder perspectively behind Sicheng's hand. Sicheng looked at Yuta again. Yuta was smiling, but Sicheng was worried. He put his phone down; he pulled his headphones off of his head; "Isn't it a little risky to post that?"

Yuta knew what Sicheng was worried about right away, but he'd already mulled over the fact. He didn't have a solid answer-- really, he wasn't so sure himself, but he was pretty confident that "We're not going to get caught, babe."

"We don't really know who's looking for us anymore." Sicheng reminded, but he was only worried for a moment more, chewed bottom lip escaping his teeth to smile, "But it's a really nice picture."

"It already has a hundred likes and at least twenty comments of 'Who's that?' 'What's his name?'-- I'm jealous. You're always so much more popular than I am." Yuta said. Sicheng shook his head, amused. He stuck his phone in his book and leaned over to look at Yuta's, easily slipping his head comfortably onto Yuta's shoulder. Yuta scrolled through his Instagram feed-- filled with celebrities and no personal connections. It was how the two of them lived their lives.

"You told Instagram where we were?" Sicheng noticed as Yuta scrolled past his own post. Sicheng's fingers interrupted Yuta's, and he scrolled back up to look at the caption on the picture Yuta had taken. It said _Where the cherry blossoms are_ , with an oddly appropriate combination of a tree emoji and a pink flower emoji. Sicheng let out a breath, "You scared me."

"I'm not that stupid, babe." Yuta told him, and he kissed Sicheng's worried head. Posting where they were was dangerous-- even just _taking the picture_  was dancing close to the edge. Yuta decided to stand upon the edge by posting the picture; but he wasn't about to jump off and caption it with a location. (Sure, cherry blossoms traditionally meant Japan, and, sure, Sicheng was reading a book full of Japanese characters-- sure, it was pretty obvious where they were, but Japan was big enough to get lost in should they be found; and Sicheng and Yuta were the best at getting lost.)

"How did you get so many followers?" Sicheng wondered aloud after a moment of silence. He was back to reading his book, and his headphones were back on, but one side of them was pushed back behind his ear-- both so he was comfortable leaning against Yuta and so he could listen to the older male-- after elabortaing on his previous question, "What did you post about?"

"I posted little poems I wrote. I put them on pastel backgrounds, and I let the world see." Yuta said, gently nudging Sicheng, "If you looked at my posts every once in a while, you would know what made me popular. You would know my entire Instagram account is dedicated to you."

"So-- I would just further confirm the fact that you're a huge cheese-ball?" Sicheng asked, and Yuta huffed, shoved at his shoulder. That got Sicheng to sit up-- both because he was re-positioned and because he was laughing-- because he wanted to see the expression on Yuta's face and press his laugh onto Yuta's lips. Yuta accepted the kiss but he, playfully, did not accept the apology. He crossed his arms and turned his head away, chin pointed high. Sicheng kissed his cheek, the corner of his eye, the side of his nose. He didn't get to say anything more before the car stopped, and their taxi driver let them know, "Here you are."

 _Here_  wasn't really anywhere-- nowhere but a dead-end road that led down to a path-- a path that led down to a field of cherry blossoms. Sicheng and Yuta collected their things-- little as they were. Sicheng picked up his back-pack, full of clothes for the week; Yuta picked up his back-pack, full of money they would need. Sicheng collected his latte; Yuta collected his iced tea. Phones in pockets, book under arm, hands together-- Yuta handed a couple of bills to the taxi driver, told him to "Keep the change," and then the two were off-- walking down the street, down the path, right into the middle of all the cherry blossoms. There were other people there, of course-- couples, young and married; siblings, new and old. There was a mother and her child and a single father and a retired cop; they all walked beneath the cherry blossoms and very well ignored each other, getting lost in the rush of Japan and the pretty music the petals played as they fell to the ground.

Yuta only had to take one glance at Sicheng to know he wanted to dance. They tossed their bags by their feet, Sicheng's book landing on top of them. They dance behind a tree that was in front of others; but still, no one paid them attention. Palms met fingers and hips met each other; lips met lips as Yuta began to hum the song of the trees. They danced like crazy at first, and they calmed down later-- and all the while their pockets buzzed with notifications of _this user liked your picture_  and _this user liked a picture you were tagged in_.

"Dammit, I love you." Yuta muttered, felt himself overwhelmed with love at the perfection of the situation-- of the little stumble of Sicheng's feet as his toes caught the strap of Yuta's bag, at the way he pulled Yuta with him-- was saved by Yuta's hand coming against the tree. It was just a tiny stumble-- no panic, only giggles. Yuta stopped humming but the music didn't stop playing; and the two only paused in the midst of a beat to look at each other, to utter their love in breaths of swearing and wonders of disbelief-- _How could I love someone so damn much?_

"I'm _not_  going to get cheesy with you." Sicheng said-- a playful promise; but he pulled Yuta in, hugging him tightly. Arms around shoulders, lips against ear; "But you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Considering all that has happened, I think a puppy licking your hand could be the best thing that's ever happened to you." Yuta said. Sicheng didn't have the energy to argue back. Usually he would make a joke of his past, but the statement was true. It almost brought tears to his eyes-- almost, but he felt too safe in Yuta's arms to cry. Instead, he let out a heavy breath, and he nodded-- "But you're the best thing that ever will happen to me."

Yuta's hand gripped the back of Sicheng's jacket-- a soft hold of _I'm right here_. His opposite palm was still pressed against the trunk of the tree, fingers scraping against the bark as his fingers curled, copying the fingers of his left hand. For some moments, the beat slowed down; the cherry blossoms fell upon Yuta's back, but the music still played. It wouldn't stop; the beat never stopped. But it was quiet enough for Yuta to say, "I'll always be the best for you."

Silence; the music grew louder, but Yuta and Sicheng didn't dance, and they didn't whisper along. Sicheng held Yuta; his arms were looped around Yuta's neck, and he held on soft-- but he had such a strong grip. Yuta allowed his body to fall completely into Sicheng's-- shoulders hunching and chest pressing forward, tucking himself around the younger man. Sicheng reveled in Yuta's heat and warmth-- in his own love for the older male and the older male himself. But the moment didn't last long-- not in real time. The moment would embed itself in them for a long time to come, but the music was still playing and, eventually, their bodies wanted to dance.

"Come on, baby," Yuta said, peeling himself away from Sicheng. Sicheng's body followed, and soon Sicheng's feet were untangled from Yuta's bag and they were stepping back-- back away from the tree and away from their belongings, and they were dancing again. Yuta spun Sicheng under his arm, around his body. He pet his fingers through Sicheng's hair when the two came close enough to kiss-- and they skipped a beat of the rhythm and their hearts to allow their lips to sing together.

"We shouldn't stay long," Sicheng said, breathless, words riding the rhythm. He was close to Yuta-- close enough for Yuta to hear his whisper. Yuta spun him away-- away from the comfort of his chest, and then he pulled him right back. The beat slowed for them, and Yuta carefully walked them around-- with a little skip in his step because he hated slow dancing.

"We shouldn't stay long." Yuta agreed. He pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket-- without interrupting Sicheng, and he took a picture over Sicheng's shoulder-- a picture of the beautiful cherry blossoms. And then he stepped back-- an interruption in rhythm-- to let his phone capture the music-- the tired image of Sicheng standing, watching Yuta with confusion. And then he caught a picture of Sicheng laughing-- smiling as he realized what Yuta was doing.

"You're going to get us caught!" Sicheng yelled-- but it was a yell amidst a smile, a yell that barely reached the volume of the music. He stole Yuta's phone away and pointed it at him, tired fingers taking pictures as Yuta gave him little poses-- hearts and kisses and smiles, and Sicheng laughed the whole time, which meant the pictures came out blurry, but Yuta still made a collage of them as they were walking-- after their tired bodies rejected dancing any more, and opted for collecting their things instead. They walked, and Sicheng listened to music, and Yuta arranged the pictures; and they found themselves on the other side of the path with a new post on Instagram and four amazing songs wasted on walking. (It was too bad Yuta and Sicheng's bodies were too tired to dance.)

At the end of the path, Yuta and Sicheng stopped. They both peeked down the street-- Yuta first, and then Sicheng when he'd gotten to the end of the paragraph he was reading. Down the street, life was bustling; people were moving around, carrying coffee, sight-seeing. Travelers had cameras; foreighners had an excited glint in their eyes. Sicheng could smell the beautifu aroma of food, and it made his mouth water, made his stomach growl. But the crowd was enough to overtake his hungry stomach; his anxiety was enough to have him squeezing Yuta's hand-- and Yuta understood. Yuta started down the street, but he stopped after a second, and he began to dump his stuff beneath a tree. Siceng did the same-- and then they settled in the pile of their bookbags and phones, and they curled up together as the sun began to set. Some people eyed them as they came along, but the two of them pay no attention. Sicheng read until the sun provided him no more light, and Yuta scrolled through Instagram until his phone died. And then, with the sun disappearing and all the life dying down-- husbands settling into their wives, mothers settling their children; Yuta and Sicheng gathered their things again, and started for the dispersing crowd.

Yuta took moments of darkness to realize just how fast the world moved. The sky was pitch black-- hours had passed. The street lights were on and the city was lit up; people were walking down the street hand-in-hand. Yuta noticed each and every person-- even if he only saw them for a second, he was able to bookmark them in the back of his mind. He'd learned to do that-- trained himself the way Sicheng had. They knew who to look out for-- they knew how to watch everyone.

Yuta glanced up at some restaurant names, some snack stands, let his mind divert for a moment as he thought about the world again. He thought about how fast everyone was moving-- how, even though people were walking at the same pace as they were, it seemed as if they were moving thousands of miles an hour-- buzzing past Yuta and Sicheng in a blur. If Yuta's mind wasn't so trained on memorizing faces and actions, he thought he might really see them as a blur. But when he looked at Sicheng, moving just as fast as him, just as fast as everyone else, it was slow. He was crystal clear; and he was beautiful-- and Yuta missed looking at a few faces in order to study Sicheng.

Sicheng trusted Yuta; he had his headphones on, his book open, ignoring the crowd. He had Yuta's hand and he trusted that Yuta would lead him, wouldn't let him get hurt. And Yuta took it as a duty-- put his life on Sicheng's health and protection and promised himself that he would never let anything happen to that man. And so he turned away, stopped taking in Sicheng's beauty and started paying attention to the fast-paced world ahead of them.

"Let's get a hotel for tonight," Yuta said-- a sudden idea as his mind raced with Sicheng's beauty. Sicheng closed his book, pushed his headphones off his ears, asked, "What?" and Yuta repeated, "Let's get a hotel for tonight."

Yuta could practically feel Sicheng's anxiety itching. He looked at Sicheng for a second; and he could read his expression just like this. His eyes were full of worry, and his expression was hesitant. He thought it was a bad idea; he didn't want to stay put for one night. He thought it was even worse that they were in Japan and this is where Yuta's problems sprouted, and this is where they remained. He thought it dangerous because this was a popular city and, as they had learned, it was actually much harder to hide in a highly populated place than it was a small town.

"It'll be okay." Yuta promised. He slowly began to walk again, because he knew there was a hotel around a few corners. He knew, because he knew this place, and he knew it too well. But that was good-- that was good, because he knew where to get lost, even if they got caught. He knew where to get lost.

"We'll charge our phones. We'll get something to eat. We'll have a shower. We don't have to sleep tonight. We can sleep on the plane tomorrow morning." Yuta said. He could feel the ease come into Sicheng; he could feel the anxiety fade into something tolerable. He stroked the back of Sicheng's hand softly, "It'll be okay."

Sicheng trusted Yuta.

Settling into the hotel was easy. They had very few things, and they got a small room on the second floor. They dumped their bags and plugged in their phones; they undressed and they went to shower together. It had been a while since they were fully clean, and of course they dirtied themselves more in the shower-- with touches and kisses and teeth finally brushed-- mint had never tasted so sweet. Sicheng's collar bones tasted sweet; Yuta's hips tasted sweet. Everything was _sweet_ ; and they let their guards down long enough to satisfy their sweet teeth.

Bodies dry, new clothes on; old ones thrown out, soon the be replaced with something new. Quick towels through hair-- hair left mostly wet to dry for the night. No brushes; their hair would be messy, have to be combed by fingers. (Yuta got a head start when Sicheng settled on the bed next to him, with his book open. He combed his fingers through Sicheng's hair, puled Sicheng closer so that he was against his chest. He was surprised when Sicheng fell asleep, but he wasn't too surprised, because Sicheng was exhausted-- had been all day-- and Yuta's hands through his hair had always been particularly good at soothing him, at putting him to sleep.)

The steady breathing of Sicheng's made Yuta sleepy, too, but he wasn't going to let himself fall asleep. He knew very well that he was the one in danger, but he also knew there would be no mercy for anyone that Yuta loved. Yuta may get the worst of it, but only because he'd be pained by whatever happened to Sicheng-- and he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let anything happen to Sicheng.

He _wouldn't_  let anything happen to Sicheng.

So, calmly, Yuta shifted to grab his phone-- unplug it because 67% was all he needed-- more than enough. He hopped online, and he bought the first plane tickets he saw-- 4:00 flight to some place in South America, where the language was new to Yuta but he and Sicheng didn't need to know it anyway. 12:44 flashed on Yuta's screen by the time he was done ordering the tickets-- which meant they would have to leave pretty soon. Soon, but not right then. Soon, but he could admire Sicheng's blissful calm for a little while longer. He could appreciate the beauty of the man that had gone through too much-- the man that Yuta would love for the rest of his life.

Sicheng took in a sudden deep breath and let it out-- something in his dream that disturbed his sleep but didn't quiet wake him. Yuta kissed Sicheng's head-- brought him closer and held him tighter. His eyes slipped shut for a minute, and he slipped into a dream for a minute-- a dream of him and Sicheng settled somewhere, finally safe. No more worries, no more troubles. They had two cats that adored Sicheng; and Yuta adored him, too. He had a steady job, and he bought Sicheng a bookshelf that took up an entire wall-- hundreds of books in countless languages. English, Japanese, Mandarin, Spanish, Thai, Korean, Arabic-- more and more and more so Sicheng didn't have to keep reading the same Japanese book over and over and over. Their walls were made of glass because they just didn't have to be scared anymore; they could wake up to the world and not be terrified of what lay in the darkness. There were no monsters. There was no pain.

And then Yuta woke up, and he sat up quickly-- quick enough that Sicheng, too, woke up-- with a little less alarm, but still, with some terror. It was 1:05 and Yuta couldn't believe he'd let more than a minute pass with both of them being unconscious and not on a plane to somewhere new. He brought Sicheng to him and breathed out his panic; and Sicheng's anxiety itched beneath his skin, but he held Yuta through his shaking and a few of his tears.

"Are you okay?" Sicheng asked eventually-- when Yuta was a little calmer. Yuta nodded, but he knew he wasn't. Neither of them were okay; they would never be okay. They would never have a glass house; they would never get over their fear of the dark. They would never stop believing in monsters; their monsters would never go away. They would never stop being chased. They would never live without fear. They would never be married; they would never have kids. They would never settle down; they would never get jobs. They would die young, and they would die unhappy.

Yuta wanted to say _I'm sorry_. He wanted to apologize for not being able to be more for Sicheng. He wanted to apologize for everything that had happened to Sicheng, but they'd both agreed to not apologize for each other's pasts. Neither of them were at fault; not in each other's pasts and not in their own. They were victims and they were just venting. Nothing could be changed by saying _I'm sorry_ , and they already knew the pain they felt was pain the other felt, too. The sympathy was there; the empathy, too. _I'm sorry_ wasn't going to help express it-- not the way their actions did.

"I love you," Sicheng told him-- a soft-spoken word of comfort, a soft hand rubbing over Yuta's bicep. _I love you_ \-- that was the only thing that mattered. The past was the past; and it chased them, but they were good at running. _I love you_ \-- it helped to fuel them, to keep them going. They could overcome anything together, because _I love you_ , and-- "I love you, too."


	7. Another World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _don't wanna feel_  
>  Mark and Donghyuck fell in love through dreams.  
> [au]: dreamers  
> ♡ donghyuck and mark  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another world has always made me think of markhyuck

The first time Lee Donghyuck saw Lee Minhyung, it was on a Saturday night, maybe twenty minutes after he'd fallen asleep. It was quite late in the evening, quite early in the morning; 2:00 by the time Donghyuck closed his eyes. Fact was: dreams only really lasted about twenty minutes. They seemed much longer; much, much longer, and Donghyuck was under the impression that his dream with Lee Minhyung had lasted much, much longer than twenty minutes. Upon opening his eyes, disturbed out of sleep by his blaring alarm clock, he felt like he'd dreamt all night long--one feeling he could say he'd never had before. Despite this, he only vaguely remembered the dream-- damn the melting of memory upon waking, damn the fact that his dream catcher's purpose was to prevent nightmares, not collect dreams.

Unfortunately, Donghyuck had no time to mull over his dream. He had no time to close his eyes and refresh his memory; he had to hop out of bed right away and submit an essay he just didn't have the energy to finish the night before. It was due at 10:00; he had three hours. He went to the kitchen, he made some cereal, and then he settled in front of his laptop and put all of his mind and effort into finishing his essays. Early Saturday morning bled into late Saturday morning; Donghyuck put his bowl in the sink when he got up to go to the bathroom, and then he returned right back to his laptop, cranking out whatever words he could. Word after word; sentence after sentence; paragraph after paragraph; and Donghyuck was able to submit his essay an hour early. He climbed back into bed when he was finished, and he stared at the ceiling, and he let his aching thoughts go back to his dream. It had been tugging at the back of his mind all morning, and it only made his headache worse to think about it now. Why was he so stuck on this dream? He could see dream boy's face right-- so, _so_  vivid, like he was sitting right there, like Donghyuck was looking at a picture. For the life of him, he could not remember what dream boy said, or what either of them did. He only remembered his first person point of view dream, in which dream boy was holding his hand and saying something. _Something_.

"My name is Lee Minhyung," he'd said; and that's all Donghyuck could force himself to remember. He let out a long sigh, but he caught himself in the middle of it-- with a sudden, optimistic thought: _I'm an artist_.

Donghyuck flung himself out of bed in spite of his headache, and he grabbed for his pencils and his notepad. He took his headphones, too, and his phone, a water bottle, and he curled up on his couch with a blanket around his arms. He set his water bottle on the table and tucked his phone into his pocket-- put his music on shuffle and let it meditate his mind as he flipped open his notepad and began to draw like crazy. He sat for hours-- late morning bleeding into afternoon. He took two sips of his water in the span of three hours; and then he chugged down a gulp as he was sitting back, looking at his masterpiece. It wasn't so much his drawing skills as it was the beauty of this man-- what simple, beautiful features he had. Plain black hair, pretty little eyes, an amazing, crooked smile. Hell, Donghyuck thought, he was beautiful. Just one more detail to go.

Donghyuck pulled the drawing back to him and positioned his pencil at the corner, quickly signing it with the one thing that Donghyuck remembered from his dream, apart from dream boy's face-- the two seconds that dream boy muttered his name.

 _Lee Minhyung,_  
_by Lee Donghyuck_

Upon coincidence, Donghyuck had grabbed his brand new notebook in which to draw Lee Minhyung; and, on purpose, he grabbed it the next time he dreamt of the boy; and after the third time drawing Lee Minhyung into his blank pages, Donghyuck decided to keep his notebook strictly for dream boy. He had many dreams of this man-- this Lee Minhyung, but he could never remember the details. He remembered his smile, the way his lips moved, but Donghyuck couldn't read lips. The only thing he could decipher was his own name spilling from Minhyung's lips. (And, he noted, Minhyung's lips looked very, very nice as he formed the syllables of Donghyuck's name.)

For the first two weeks, Donghyuck drew Minhyung every night, because he saw Minhyun every night. It was always something new, with him-- a new spark in his eye, a new curve of his lips. Each drawing was different-- a different angle, a different expression, but they were all of one boy-- one _beautiful_  boy. Lee Minhyung was gorgeous, and Dongyoung decided he was in love.

Strange, Donghyuck thought, that he should fall in love with a boy from his dreams in two weeks. It scared him enough to stop drawing-- to keep his dreams in his mind, but eventually he couldn't resist. A week after he decided to stop drawing Minhyung, to try forgetting about him, Donghyuck found something brand, brand new: a _laugh_ , in which Minhyung's lips and teeth parted and he laughed so close to Donghyuck; Donghyuck could almost taste it. _Taste_  the boy-- and he tasted... something like Donghyuck might expect. Something sweet, like... like Lee Minhyung.

Donghyuck didn't mind being in love with a drawing, after that. He looked down at Lee Minhyung, and he concluded that, although it was strange, and out of the world, lee Minhyung could be Lee Donghyuck's dirty secret; his guilty pleasure. No one had to know about him; and Donghyuck could convince himself being in love with Lee Minhyung wasn't the strangest thing he'd ever experienced.

 

 

 

The first time Lee Minhyung heard Lee Donghyuck, he was dreaming. It was a Saturday night; he had a dream like any other night. But this one was different. He couldn't see much; it was cloudy. He saw a head of brown hair, and he saw a faint face, but he couldn't make out any distinct features. He could only hear the boy talking to him-- a beautiful voice, Minhyung thought, and beautiful words, too. As a writer, Minhyung admired them. He was analyzing the clouds, it seemed. Mark was much more focused on the sound of his voice than the words coming out, but Minhyung could tell he had a beautiful mind.

Upon waking up, Minhyung didn't think twice about opening the notebook he kept on his pillow and jotting down the metaphor Donghyuck had made-- comparing the clouds to a group of friends-- how they drift this way and that, and they think they're different, and they are, really, but at the end of the day they're all made of the same things: water, and a little bit of mutation to make them different.

Minhyung didn't think much about it, and he went on about his day. He settled at his computer and started on a research project that was due in three weeks. He ate pancakes for breakfast; he accepted a cup of coffee from his roommate, who had always been an early bird. Two hours later, he packed up for class. He sat through his lectures; he met up with friends; he went out to lunch-- and then, walking home, he looked up at the sky, saw the clouds, and remembered what Donghyuck had said about friends. They drifted; they thought they were different. Mark cast his eyes down, and he thought about how Yoonoh had been talking about how he had started his project that morning even though he didn't have to. His was due in three days; Mark's was due in three weeks-- but how different was that? How different were they?

Maybe they really weren't. Maybe they really were just made up of water and mutations.

Minhyung settled at his desk and opened his notebook. It was an old notebook-- a dream journal that Minhyung had been keeping on his pillow for years so he could document some of the dreams he'd had and perhaps turn them into poems later. So far, he'd only created a decent poem with three of them-- but three was more than enough for Minhyung's strange dreams. Often times, he would simply dream of his day or some of the less pleasant memories he held-- neither of which were suitable for poetry. How could he make a poem out of spreading jam on toast? Well, perhaps if he was talented, he could-- but he wasn't there yet, and he doubted if he would ever get there.

Donghyuck gave him simple things to work with-- simple in the complicated way. His words were easy to form into poetry; he never talked about his day or anything truly simple. Instead, he analyzed. He opened up and showed Minhyung his beautiful brain. He compared butterflies to hurricanes; he spoke of the butterfly effect. He compared volanoes to avalanches and told Mark why he thought they were practically the same thing. He spoke of science in a perspective way-- and Minhyung learned that he actually hated science, but he liked to consider it sometimes. It was his least favorite subject, but it gave him a lot to think about.

Something strange happened to Minhyung over the weeks that he and Donghyuck spoke-- in his dreams, of course. Minhyung found himself loving Donghyuck's brain. It was vast and intellectual and it seemed young, but strong. He didn't know a lot of what he was talking about, but he had theories, and he held onto them, repeated them; like he was determined to prove them one day. Minhyung had heard him compare clouds to friends three times, and while he didn't say the exact same thing, he gave the same general metaphor-- that clouds and groups of friends were similar. Water and mutation; Donghyuck seemed to want to prove that-- to make friends, watch them disappear, and prove that the traveling cloud he'd seen the morning he lost a friend was just like the friend that had drifted away.

Minhyung was afraid of Donghyuck's brain, because he found himself falling in love it. He thought he might even be in loved with Donghyuck, considering Minhyung had never cared about physical appearance. But that was another strange thing. Minhyung could never see Donghyuck in his dream. His face was always cloudy. The most Minhyung had ever seen of Donghyuck was his hair, and the back of his wrist. Donghyuck had reached over in one of his dreams and held Minhyung's hand. He was spilling something heavy, and he needed the support, the anchorage that Minhyung's hand could give. Minhyung had noticed a little scar on the back of Donghyuck's wrist, but that was it. That was the most Minhyung had seen of Donghyuck, and, strangely, he found himself falling in love.

That scared Minhyung. Donghyuck was a dream; he was something from deep in Minhyung's mind that had just come to the surface, and Minhyung was falling in love with him. Minhyung wondered: was he falling in love with himself? Was that possible? He didn't feel different when he awoke-- except he did, because he couldn't stop thinking of Donghyuck. Had hid mind realy created Donghyuck, or had he been put there? How would he, though-- have been put there? How could Minhyung dream up a new face, a new person? But how could Donghyuck be something in his mind, when Minhyung didn't have these kinds of thoughts? He didn't write in metaphors, because he never thought of any. He wrote in concepts that were real and easy to grasp. His poetry wasn't necessarily up for interpretation, lest someone should want to interpret it. He wrote about very real things in his very real life, and Donghyuck's head was up in the clouds-- foggy, and comparing the white to his friends.

Lee Donghyuck and Lee Minhyung were not the same person, Minhyung concluded. He was falling in love with Lee Donghyuck, not himself. Hell, though; that was still so strange. He was falling in love with a faceless dream with a beautiful mind and a scar on the back of his wrist.

That was something Minhyung would have to keep secret.

 

 

 

 _muse (n.)_  
_a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist_.

Donghyuck finished sketching Lee Minhyung into the last page of his notebook and set it out on the table in front of him to admire his work. Donghyuck sketched Mark every time he dreamt-- whether it was after a long night's rest or a quick nap between classes. Minhyung had a different expression on his face every time, but it was never negative. In one picture, he was smiling, his eyes turned up into moons with the happiness. In another picture, he was full-blown laughing, his lips parted, the corners of his mouth pulled back, showing his teeth. It it weren't for the rest of his expression, he may look like an animal baring its teeth, or perhaps pulling apart its lips to eat. He looked a little ridiculous, Donghyuck thought, but no less beautiful. In fact, Donghyuck may prefer his ridiculous expression of happiness over his calmer one. His calmer one didn't show the true extent of his happiness.

Unfortunately, Minhyung's true happiness was rare. In a notebook with 150 pages, Donghyuck only had two of Minhyung laughing out loud, and they were spaced heavily apart. The first one lay on the front of the fifteenth page, and it had been colored and finished from Donghyuck's memory. The second lay on the bath of the 112th page, and it had yet to be reached with skin colored pencils and brown eyes, but it was no less beautiful than the first. No lack of color or happiness would ever make Lee Minhyung less beautiful.

Donghyuck closed his notebook so that he may stop thinking about Lee Minhyung. The man-- perhaps the boy, should he be as close to Donghyuck's age as he thought-- had been taking over a big part of his life-- his focus. Donghyuck's grades had begun to drop because he spent most of his time sketching Lee Minhyung. He had nearly been fired from his job because he spent his time coloring instead of getting ready for work. He was falling apart at the seams as he spent more and more time in his dreams. He was shattering to pieces as he fell in love with Lee Minhyung.

None of Donghyuck's thoughts stopped him from going out late that night, buying a new notebook, and opening the cover to fresh pages to sketch Lee Minhyun into in the morning. Nothing would stop Donghyuck from drawing Lee Minhyung every single day, from holding on to each quirk of his eyebrow and each expression of laughter. Nothing would stop Donghyuck from falling in love with Minhyung. Nothing _could_  stop Donghyuck from falling in love with Minhyung, not even Donghyuck himself.

Donghyuck tried. He tried to make sense of Lee Minhyung, tried to discourage himself. He tried to imagine that Minhyung was just a figment of his imagination, and that it wasn't right to fall in love with him. He googled _Why do I dream of the same stranger every day?_  and brought up an article about soulmates that just didn't help him discredit his love for Lee Minhyung. It talked on and on about how people couldn't create a face in their minds, how the people in one's dreams were people that one had seen before. Donghyuck read on and on and on; it said if one met their soulmate, even just briefly saw them, but did not converse, the dreams would come about. Donghyuck's heart fell a little more as he read on-- on and on and on, because Lee Minhyung was a _real person_ \-- Lee Minhyung was his _soulmate_ ; and it was no wonder, really, why Donghyuck had fallen for him so fast, so hard. Lee Minhyung was meant to be.

Nothing could stop Donghyuck from falling in love with Minhyung, not even Donghyuck himself.

Donghyuck went to class the next day and tried to pretend it didn't get to his head. He went to work and tried to pretend it didn't get to his head. He went about his life and talked to his parents briefly and tried to pretend that the fact that he had a soulmate out there somewhere, waiting for him, didn't get to his head. He tried not to imagine Minhyung dreaming about him, too. He tried not to imagine meeting Minhyung one day, falling into him like it was exactly what he was made to do. He tried, and he tried, but he didn't succeed, because his dreams started forming to him hugging Minhyung and kissing him-- holding his hand and marrying him. When that last dream came along, Donghyuck spent all day sketching the marriage, skipping class and missing work and crying over his notebook because he really had a soulmate out there, didn't he?

Donghyuck had never been able to imagine himself falling in love. His worst fear was being alone, and he lived in that fear every day. His classmates ignored him; his co-workers despised him. His parents neglected him; his siblings forgot about him. Donghyuck felt he was destined to be alone and couldn't believe he had a soulmate waiting, could hardly believe his worst fear may soon diminish. Minhyung brought him hope in his fantasy proposal and his smile-- his beauty and his silent words. Lee Minhyung was Lee Donghyuck's soulmate; and he was waiting for Donghyuck somewhere. That was a dream if Donghyuck had ever had one.

 

 

 

 _muse (n.)_  
_a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist_.

Mark signed his poem with Donghyuck's name and closed his notebook. It was the last page in his dream journal; he would have to make a note somewhere to get another one that night. Three-hundred pages of Donghyuck's metaphors and poem made out of them. Mark almost felt like he was stealing ideas, plagiarizing, but he had to remind himself that this was all coming from his own head. He couldn't be bothered to believe that Donghyuck was real; there was no way Donghyuck was real. How would he know another person without ever having met them? How would he knows the ins and outs of one man's mind without never, ever meeting him?

Soulmates, Mark found out.

Mark Lee had a friend called Jung Yoonoh-- one of his only friends, but quite possibly the best he'd ever had. He trusted Yoonoh enough with his crazy secret to tell it. He didn't tell Yoonoh about Donghyuck's brown hair or the scar on the back of his wrist, but he told Yoonoh of Donghyuck himself-- his name, the dreams he appeared in every single night, the metaphors he would tell. Mark recounted almost every single one, five weeks into knowing Lee Donghyuck, and Yoonoh listened and listened and listened... and listened and listened. When Mark was all done, and all worked up, and all in love, Yoonoh told him, "Lee Donghyuck is your soulmate."

Mark didn't even know soulmates existed, much less that he had one. He asked Yoonoh what the hell that meant-- he had a soulmate? Someone was made just for him? He was made just for someone else? They were going to fit together like puzzle pieces? Yoonoh summed it up just like that, answered "Yes" to all of Mark's questions, like "Donghyuck is _real?_ " and "Am I going to meet him one day?" He even answered yes to a question Mark hadn't asked-- _Have I seen him before?_

"I've seen him before?" Mark repeated. Yoonoh repeated, as well, "Yes."

Mark could hardly believe it. If it was anyone other than Yoonoh telling him this, he wouldn't believe it. If it was Youngho, or Jaemin, he wouldn't have believed them for a second. They liked to joke around more than Yoonoh, after all, and Minhyung would have taken it all as a joke, but Yoonoh was completely serious. He told Minhyung "I don't dream of my soulmate, but that's because I haven't met them yet," and Mark wondered how that worked, and Yoonoh told him, "If you meet your soulmate but you don't converse with them at all, then you start dreaming about them."

"Why can't I see his face?" Mark wondered. Yoonoh didn't have a factual answer to that, but he had an interesting theory, "Well, you are a writer, so I assume you'll hang onto his words more than his appearance. They'll probably appeal to you more."

Mark wondered if Yoonoh was calling his soulmate ugly. Mark wondered why he would think such a ridiculous thought.

Mark went about his days trying not to think too much about Donghyuck. He already spent all of his time in class doodling poems into his notes instead of actually taking notes; he already spent all of his time at work scratching his fingers and waiting, waiting, waiting for his shift to be over so that he could go home and write more, type more, sign his poems with _Donghyuck_  because he was real, and his thoughts were real, and he was Mark's muse. He couldn't afford to spent more time dedicating his focus to Donghyuck, as much as he would like.

Mark tried to push Donghyuck into his free time instead of his work time. He itched to write a poem about meeting Donghyuck after he and Donghyuck had lay down in the grass and dicussed as much, but he waited until he was home to do so. He recounted some of the things Donghyuck had said and wrote them into his poem. When Mark asked "Do you love me?" and Donghyuck hesitated, Mark mentioned how it hurt in an odd way. The pain wasn't direct, but the grass tickled more and the sun felt hotter, like Donghyuck had shattered Mark's focus and tore down the thin walls that allowed Mark to ignore the random discomforts. When Donghyuck finally answered "Yes," the grass went away completely, and Mark was on a cloud. The sun wasn't so hot; it didn't burn so much. When Mark asked "Will you meet me one day?" and Donghyuck didn't hesitate to say "Yes," he felt even better. He felt like nothing existed-- not even the cloud he was floating on. It was just him and faceless Donghyuck-- him and beautiful Donghyuck.

The poem was one of the best Mark had ever written. It described the struggles of soulmates that were just like him and Donghyuck. They hadn't met, but they longed for each other. They dreamed of each other; they pined for each other; they wished and hoped and they wondered if the other even knew them at all, if this was a coincidence or if Lee Donghyuck really knew that Mark Lee existed.

Mark signed the poem with _Lee Donghyuck_ , and he left it at that.

 

 

 

Before Donghyuck knew it, Lee Minhyung was a casual part of his day. He would wake up from a dream with Lee Minhyung and he wouldn't overthink it; he would simply pick up one of his endless sketchbooks and start drawing Lee Minhyung into its pages. He would eat cereal over his sketch and reject thinking about Lee Minhyung for the rest of the day-- until he came home, tucked himself in, and slipped into paradise.

It wasn't until Donghyuck actually saw Lee Minhyung in a waking moment that everything changed _again_.

Donghyuck was at the mall-- what a casual place for a Saturday, right? He was by himself, because he was always by himself. He grew up alone and he knew he would continue to be alone. He was scared, but he was okay. He was shopping, and he was about to check out, and then he looked up, and he spotted Lee Minhyung on the other side of the register-- looking at bags in the back of the store. Donghyuck zeroed in on him for a long while-- a while long enough for the cashier to ring up his items-- three shirts and a new belt. He was snapped back into reality when the cashier gently cleared his throat and told Donghyuck his price. Donghyuck barely heard; he handed over his card and looked at Lee Minhyung again. He was beautiful-- just as beautiful as in Donghyuck's dreams, and in his sketchbook. His eyes sparkled from that far away; his smile shone as he spoke to the man next to him. Donghyuck noticed the man catch his eye, nudge Minhyung, and gently gesture to Donghyuck. Donghyuck didn't stop staring when Minhyung turned his head. They caught each other's gaze, and Donghyuck's heart seized in his chest. It spluttered around like it might explode, and it hurt to breathe.

Something was off, though. Lee Minhyung was Donghyuck's soulmate-- that much Donghyuck was almost sure of, but it didn't show on Minhyung's face. Minhyung didn't look like his heart had turned a butterfly; Minhyung didn't look shocked and in love. In fact, he looked rather disturbed. He stared at Donghyuck for a second and then he took a step back, looked back at the man he was with and whispered something to him. Minhyung didn't recognize him. Minhyung didn't _know him_.

Donghyuck quickly collected his bag and his card and ran out of the store. He ran all the way out of the mall, his heart in a frenzy of broken pieces that were still fluttering around-- like a butterfly that had just been split in two but somehow still flew. Donghyuck clambered into his car and cried for some time, curled up behind his steering wheel with a horrifying feeling settled into his gut. _My soulmate doesn't recognize me_.

Donghyuck drove home with tears in his eyes. He was calm by the time he pulled into his driveway-- two hours before he planned to. He ditched the idea of returning to the mall to shop at the other stores he'd been wanting to go to. Part of him never wanted to set foot near that mall ever again. He collected his bag-- his shirts and his belt-- and he went inside. He locked the door; he threw his keys on the counter. As much as it hurt, he opened his sketchbook and began to draw.

Lee Minhyung was staring right at him-- something he often did, but nothing Donghyuck drew very often. This was the first angle Donghyuck drew that included Minhyung's whole body, and this was the first drawing in which Minhyung looked so unfamiliar with Donghyuck. It broke Donghyuck's heart to see the expression unfold in front of him again-- the glint of _who are you?_  in one eye and _stop looking at me, creep_  in the other. Donghyuck's own soulmate had no idea who he was, and that was enough to break Donghyuck's heart all over again.

Donghyuck didn't enjoy his dream with Minhyung. He didn't enjoy drawing him the next morning. It all hurt-- almost as much as the burning coffee that slid down his throat the _moment_  Donghyuck poured it into a cup. He didn't care. He found himself in despair over losing Lee Minhyung's love before he ever truly had it. He found himself in despair because Minhyung didn't know him, and most likely wouldn't love him. Donghyuck would remain in his mind as _the creep that stared at me in the mall one time_ , and even then his memory would fade.

Lee Donghyuck was nothing to Lee Minhyung, and that hurt Donghyuck a lot.

Donghyuck tried to make more sense of it. Maybe it was a mistake; maybe he looked different in Minhyung's dream. Googling it gave him nothing. _My soulmate doesn't recognize me?_  led to sad articles about people whose significant others had been in accidents, had amnesia. _My soulmate doesn't dream about me_  led to teenage girls whining about their boyfriends-- nothing that would help Donghyuck. He had no idea how else to word it, didn't even remember what he googled to find out he had a soulmate in the first place. He tried _soulmate_  and _love_  but he didn't come up with anything useful-- mostly cheesy quotes that somehow served to hurt Donghyuck more. Everything else was relationship this, relationship that, _improve your relationship now!_  and Donghyuck might love that last one if only he had a relationship to begin with!

Donghyuck shut his laptop and crawled into bed; he cried himself to sleep and cried even more when, in his dream, Minhyung tried to comfort him. Donghyuck wished he could open his mouth and ask "Why don't you know me? Why don't you recognize me? I love you-- you should love me, too--!" but Donghyuck couldn't say a word, and Minhyung couldn't say a word, so Donghyuck was stuck wondering, and crying.

 

 

 

Mark had never heard Donghyuck sing before, but he knew Donghyuck's voice well enough to recognize his singing in public. Minhyung was simply walking down the street, passing a public park when he heart it-- soft notes of a soft song reaching his ears. He knew it was Lee Donghyuck's voice-- it _had to be_. His voice was so unique; that _had_ to be him.

Mark turned his head this way and that as he searched for Donghyuck. It seemed like that voice was coming from everywhere; it seemed like Mark would never find him. He walked through half the park and searched, searched, searched. Donghyuck's voice never went away-- gentle notes and gentle words. Lyrically, it seemed like something he would have written, but it also sounded like something Mark had heard before. Was Donghyuck inspired by music?

Mark sat up when he couldn't take it anymore-- when the voice got louder and tormented him out of sleep. Mark looked around, a frown on his face. That had seemed so real-- that wasn't real? He was dreaming? He hadn't been inches away from Donghyuck? He hadn't been walking? It wasn't daytime? Mark was so confused.

Mark opened his journal and jotted down some of the lyrics Donghyuck had been singing. He gently hummed the tune to himself as the lyrics spilled onto the page. The words were sad-- words that pined for someone, like _I wish you knew me_ , and _You don't even recognize me_. Mark's heart hurt looking at the words Donghyuck sang; he felt jealous and sad as he wondered who Donghyuck could be singing about.

There wasn't a lot of time in a day to thing about Lee Donghyuck. Mark had things to this morning-- a new route to take as he met Yoonoh at a new restaurant just to try it. He had to leave early in case he got lost; he had to shower and dress and do everything that came with the morning. He set off with an empty stomach and a desire to try something new. He gently hummed Donghyuck's song, entertained enough that he didn't even pop his headphones in. He followed the street names and landmarks and came upon a park, at which point he stopped. He stopped humming, too, but he didn't stop hearing that song. The lyrics were rolling out into the open air, resonating from a park bench mere yards away from where Mark was standing. Mark saw brown hair and a red shirt; he heard a slight break in the man's voice as he stretched his arms out. He saw a scar on the back of his wrist; he heard a familiarity in his tone.

 _Donghyuck_.

Mark didn't know what to do. Donghyuck was sitting so close to him, singing a sad song, and he was completely alone. There wasn't even another stranger in the park-- who would be there this early in the morning? It was just Donghyuck. Mark pinched himself before he thought of doing anything else-- if he was going to be let down, he wanted it to be _now_ , not when he was moments away from seeing Donghyuck's face. The pinch hurt, but it didn't jolt him from sleep. He was awake; he was awake and aware and his soulmate was sitting so, _so_  close to him.

After some numb steps, Mark found himself standing right behind Donghyuck. He couldn't help but feel creepy and awkward, standing behind someone so oblivious, but Donghyuck was only oblivious for a moment. He must have realized the shadow or heard a hitch in Mark's breath, because he turned around, and he flinched, seeing Mark standing there. Mark frowned when he saw Donghyuck's face. He recognized Donghyuck as the man that had been staring at him in the mall just last week. He had looked so ugly from far-- so scary and creepy, but he was so beautiful up close. He was beautiful because Mark knew him; he was beautiful because Mark connected some dots and figured out why he was staring. He didn't look so ugly and scary now; he looked beautiful and _in love_.

"D-Donghyuck." Mark said, hoping and praying it was him. It had to be-- it had to be, right? This was no coincidence; there was a reason he sounded exactly like the Donghyuck in his dream; there was a reason he was staring at Mark yesterday; there was a reason his confused, startled expression formed a smile-- and there was definitely a reason he stuttered out "M-Minhyung?" Mark's real name.

"I--" Mark didn't know what to say. Donghyuck didn't, either, but he at least had some actions up his sleeve. He turned around on the bench, sitting his knees upon the wood and reaching to pull Mark to him. It was a rough and random hug but Mark accepted it-- cherished it, even. He held his soulmate and listened to him cry and wondered if the song was about him, if perhaps Donghyuck had gotten so sad he made up a song of metaphors and clouds because Mark floated away from him last week, when he'd been so in-reach. (Mark wondered if Donghyuck felt the same way Mark had in his dream last night, or worse.)

"Do you dream about me, too?" Donghyuck wondered-- and _yes_ , this was Donghyuck. His voice-- always sounding like he was on the verge of a laugh, even when he was crying like this-- was so familiar, so beautiful. Even his touch, which Mark had never felt before, was so familiar. Mark found himself reaching one hand behind his neck to prod at the scar on Donghyuck's wrist. He felt calm, somehow, with his pointer finger against Donghyuck's scar. It felt more like him.

"Every night." Mark told him. Donghyuck laughed out a sob. Mark wondered why he would be crying, but he realized his answer as soon as he asked himself the question. Donghyuck had spoken to him about his fear before-- how terrifying he felt, being alone-- how terrified he was to be alone forever. Mark couldn't help himself; his heart was sensitive to Donghyuck's emotions, and he had to break away from the hug to hold Donghyuck's face, to look at him, to kiss him, even. It was Mark's first ever kiss, and it was short and sweet and Donghyuck's salty tears mixed with their lips, but it was perfect no matter what, because it was a moment with Donghyuck and every single one of those was something special to Mark.

"Don't be scared." Mark told him when their brief kiss had come to an end. His hands were still on Donghyuck's face, but his thumbs were active, now. They rubbed at Donghyuck's cheeks, stealing away tears and fears and sadness. Donghyuck looked into Mark's eyes as he waited for something more, something that he would be afraid of. Mark explained it to him, "You don't have to be alone ever again."

Another sob escaped Donghyuck's lips, but it was full of more relieved emotion-- same with his next hug. That moment was the warmest moment Mark had ever experienced-- and it was a shame he would never be able to put it in words.


	8. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _paper cranes_  
>  Taeyong's heart is made of the same fragile material Yoonoh, with soft hands and a passion for paper, could easily handle.  
> [au]: origami  
> ♡ jaehyun and taeyong

Jung Yoonoh liked to make paper cranes when he was nervous. It was a habit he'd learned from his best friend, a Japanese man named Nakamoto Yuta, who taught him that making paper cranes was a popular thing in Japan-- and the belief that, if one folded 1,000 of these paper cranes, their wish would come true. Yoonoh didn't believe a word of the myth at first, and simply began to fold paper cranes just to entertain himself. Origami was his feat, after all. He had been practicing the skill since he was young, having found a fascination for paper when he was only seven years old. It was so delicate and pretty; Yoonoh hated that people ruined it with ink and lead. He preferred to keep words to computer screen and folding to paper-- allowing it to form a beautiful shape and keep its beautiful skin. He thought that's how all paper should be, if not attached to its mother, a tree. (How repulsive, Yoonoh thought, that people destroyed nature so much.)

Yoonoh was especially nervous when he made his seventy-ninth paper crane. It was maybe three months after he'd started making cranes-- slow, he knew. For someone who wanted his wish so badly as of late, one would think he would work a little faster. Work he did not; he only fumbled with the paper because he'd said something stupid that day. He made five in a row, nervously humming to himself as he did. He was ruining his dream-- _ruining it_. Perhaps he he could fold the remaining of his thousand paper cranes, he could restore his wish. Perhaps if he worked quickly, he would be done before midnight, and Taeyong would forget the words Yoonoh told him-- the _"I love you a little too much."_  Yoonoh couldn't forget the look on Taeyong's face-- the shock and the raise on his eyebrow. He couldn't forget his random movements-- the curl of his fingers on the back of his chair, the tilt of his head, the forward movement of his shoulder. His movements were so alluring, and yet Yoonoh ran away. He ran for the hills; he ran for his life. He locked himself in his room and he began to fold, fold fold. One paper, two papers, three papers, four-- all folded into little paper cranes. He lost count of how many he'd done that night. He could count them in the morning, after he'd strung them all up, fifty minutes past three o'clock, barely four hours before he had to be in class. (Barely for hours before he had to face Taeyong again.)

 

 

Yoonoh supposed he had overreacted a little bit. _I love you a little too much_  didn't necessary have to be taken as _I'm in love with you_ , which is exactly how Taeyong didn't take it. He saw on Yoonoh's desk and stroked his hair-- a best friend touch that didn't really feel like a best friend touch. His concerned features asked "Are you okay? You ran off really quick yesterday," and Yoonoh made up some bullshit excuse-- some "Yeah, I-- I was feeling sick--" and he felt sick _now_ , because Taeyong's touch was making his heart flutter, but his stomach churned all the same. He was nervous; he felt his fingers itch for a piece of paper and he couldn't help but pull one from his bag, ducking away from Taeyong's touch as he did. His fingers worked quickly, folding a paper crane before Taeyong's eyes. Taeyong looked at it, impressed. He carefully reached for it, tentative, asking silently if he could touch it, pick it up. Taeyong was the most delicate person Yoonoh knew-- perhaps more delicate than the paper itself, so he had no problem. When Taeyong's fingers grasped the paper, and he lifted it to his eyes, Yoonoh thought he looked beautiful. He was holding a part of Yoonoh's progress in making his wish come true-- and, all the same, he _was_  the wish. Yoonoh thought he was one of the few people who could say he witnessed his dream pick up a piece of his progress.

Taeyong was forced to leave Yoonoh's side when the teacher walked into the room. He left the paper crane behind, too, and Yoonoh couldn't help but think it looked a bit more delicate, having been graced by an angel's touch. Yoonoh almost didn't want to pick it up again, afraid he may ruin the paper, but he knew better than that. He was delicate himself; he knew how to be, anyway. He folded the crane, brought it to life. He could surely touch it again without damaging it.

He was right. He carried the paper crane home and strung it up on the ceiling, same as the others. He looked at the section of the ceiling he'd strung it up in. It was by itself-- the 101st paper crane Yoonoh had folded. The other 100 were hanging in a square in the corner, sectioned off by messy pink chalk that would eventually rub away when Yoonoh wanted the ceiling to look prettier. He had hardly made a dent in accomplishing his dream-- funny, because he craved it so badly. Should he have believed in the myth on the first night, he may have folded them all right then-- all one thousand. Now, though, he felt the need to take it at his own pace. He felt like he had learned too much in the past three months, had almost lost Taeyong one too many times to allow himself to rush. His dream would come to him when it came, after all, and Yoonoh would continue to chase it in the meantime. Maybe he didn't need the paper cranes; maybe they were just a back-up plan. Maybe they wouldn't work; maybe nothing would. Maybe Taeyong really was just too good for him. Maybe Taeyong was really just too good for anyone. Maybe no one deserved Lee Taeyong, while he deserved the galaxy.

Maybe Yoonoh was stupid and love-struck and forgetting that Lee Taeyong was a person, just like him, and his best friend at that.

 

 

"Jung Yoonoh," Taeyong said, half a thought seemingly escaping him. His arms were reaching toward the ceiling. He was stretching, but Yoonoh couldn't help himself as he thought about his dream, again, reaching for his progress. It didn't help that Taeyong's fingers were pointed toward the paper cranes strung to the ceiling, same as his gaze. It didn't help, either, that he looked so beautiful, and Yoonoh's mind had trained itself to recognize Taeyong as a dream over a best friend. It did help when Taeyong dropped his arms and sat up on his elbows to look at Yoonoh, to ask, "What's gotten you so fascinated by paper cranes lately?"

Yoonoh wasn't sure how to answer for a moment. _You_  was on the tip of his tongue, but how could he explain that without giving it away? _Should_  he just go ahead and explain it, and give it away? Was his dream that close-- could he touch it? Could Yoonoh get to his knees now and reach for Taeyong's hand-- hold his fingers-- tell him he loved him more than anything, and kiss him? Was it that simple?

 _No_ , Yoonoh knew. _It's not_.

"Yuta told me about something." Yoonoh said. He was going to make it as simple as possible. He sat down on the ground next to his dream but did not reach for the man's hand. He didn't lay down with him, either. Taeyong had already flattened his back against the wooden floor again, but Yoonoh refused to join him, or look at him. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling-- 100 paper cranes richer than a week ago, when he had 100. (He was working a lot faster, he noted.)

"He told me about this belief, mostly in Japan." Yoonoh said. He stared at the paper cranes, moving around with the wind blowing through the window. Spring brought oddly harsh winds this year-- cold and wet. Yoonoh thought the paper cranes might be trying to fly away from the chill.

"He told me this belief-- if you fold 1,000 paper cranes, your wish will come true." Yoonoh said. He looked at the moving cranes for some moments more, and then he let his gaze fall to Taeyong. Taeyong was looking up at the cranes but allowed his gaze to shift when he noticed Yoonoh move. They caught each other's eyes for a moment-- one moment turned to two and three, only interrupted by a shy glance aside after the first moment and a few blinks. Then, Taeyong spoke, "You're trying to make a wish come true?"

"I am. I'm 200 cranes into making it happen-- 20% of the way there." Yoonoh said. It felt nice to say out loud. It wasn't much, 20%, but it was 1/5 and 1/5 was better than 1/6 or 1/7 or 0/5. Better 200 cranes than no cranes; better to try _everything_  than to try nothing.

"And what would that be?" Taeyong asked. Yoonoh had almost forgotten the topic, until Taeyong continued, "Your wish, that is."

"My wish?" Yoonoh asked. Taeyong nodded. He looked so eager to know; he had that sparkle in his eyes and that smile on his lips, and Yoonoh considered every option that involved just telling him. But how could he do that-- he could he, when he wasn't anywhere near being done with his cranes? He had no courage to tell Taeyong without the thousand cranes standing behind him, supporting him. They were delicate, sure, and they would only crush should he fall -- but how could he expect Taeyong to catch him, then, if he was as delicate as they were? (God, he didn't even know what he was thinking anymore.)

"Everyone knows telling someone else your wish jinxes it." Yoonoh said. Taeyong pouted, and Yoonoh had the serious urge to pet his hair, so he did. His fingers weren't as soft or as gentle as Taeyong's; he wasn't nearly as gentle as Taeyong himself, but Taeyong didn't seem to mind. His pout didn't go away, but his pout formed a little bit of a smile, too, so he felt better. He felt like he was doing something right by his dream.

"Tell me your wish," Taeyong said, and then, of course, he began to hum the song by Girls' Generation; and his arms extended toward the paper cranes again, but he was just stretching. His best friend was stretching; his dream was not reaching toward his progress.

Taeyong had distracted himself enough with the song that he didn't bring Yoonoh's wish up again-- or perhaps he respected Yoonoh enough not to push his undesirables. He changed the subject to food-- "Yoonoh, hyung is hungry. Will you drive me somewhere to eat?" (Yoonoh had driven Taeyong home-- Taeyong, who usually took the bus to school because he rather his car not get broken into on campus again-- Taeyong, who lived a little too far to walk-- Yoonoh, who lived too far away from any food places to walk, either.) Yoonoh told him absolutely, he could, but only if Taeyong bought him something. It was a joke, of course; Yoonoh was always joking, and Taeyong was always joking, but Taeyong promised "Yes, I'll buy you something," and that was that, and they got into Yoonoh's car, and they drove off to have lunch together, Yoonoh's wish and paper cranes forgotten at home as the two best friends talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company. (How simple.)

 

 

How simple. How simple. Yoonoh _wished_  it could be _simple_.

Three-hundred paper cranes later, 500 cranes into making his wish come true, 50% of the way to making Lee Taeyong fall in love with him, and Yoonoh swore he was coming apart at the seams. Nothing with Taeyong seemed like friendship anymore. Yoonoh made something bigger out of everything Taeyong did. One breath, and Yoonoh wanted to kiss him until neither of them could breathe. One bat of his eyelashes, and Yoonoh fell victim to everything Taeyong craved-- and it was never much. It was never anything; Taeyong didn't want anything from Yoonoh except for friendship, and Yoonoh wished he wanted more because he _deserved_ more and he wanted so desperately to give him _more_  but he was an angel and he was too good for everyone and, yes, Yoonoh was absolutely whipped and love-struck and everything a person was when they were truly, completely in love with someone else.

Yoonoh did the stupid thing that everyone seemed to do when the love became too much to handle; he pushed Taeyong away. Yes, after sixteen nearly flawless years of knowing and love Lee Taeyong, Yoonoh pushed him away. Sixteen years of friendship-- _push_. Yet, he continued to fold paper cranes. The sadder Taeyong seemed, day by day, the bigger Yoonoh's collection grew-- grew and grew until Taeyong started showing up with puffy eyes and longing looks every day and Yoonoh was twenty paper cranes away from having his wish.

Except he wasn't, because his dream was getting farther and farther away from him, and Yoonoh was losing his chances to reach out and pull him back.

Yuta pulled Yoonoh to the side one day-- one day after not seeing him for a couple months because they weren't that close and their schedules didn't overlap that much. Yuta looked a little different-- longer, lighter hair, darker skin, more muscles. Yoonoh guessed he'd traveled somewhere and gotten fit on the way-- or perhaps he went for a run every morning, when the sun was up just enough for his skin to tan. Either way, he looked good, but Yoonoh didn't have a chance to compliment him about it.

"What's going on?" Yuta asked. He sounded angry but concerned-- but that anger may just have been a detection malfunction in Yoonoh's brain, because his eyes saw muscled arms crossed over a chest and that almost never meant anything good. Yuta's expression, though, was nothing but concern, and Yoonoh fell to his question, "I-I've been-- Taeyong-hyung and I-- I pushed him away, hyung. I was scared."

"Scared? What-- of what?" Yuta frowned. He seemed angry, now, but he wasn't; he was just intimidating. Yoonoh took a deep breath and told himself _you're not going to get beat up-- Yuta likes you-- **but he likes Taeyong more** \-- but he likes you, calm down_. Yoonoh gulped for good measure, clearing out all the nerves and honest bile that he could, "I-- I'm scared to love him. I don't deserve him, hyung. You've seen him, right? He's-- he's perfect, and he just-- he's too good for me."

"Okay, first of all, no-- Taeyong's an idiot, I don't understand how you love him now." Yuta was funny, but the comment didn't make Yoonoh feel any better. Apparently, Yuta wasn't trying to make Yoonoh feel any better, as he moved right on, his hands going to Yoonoh's shoulders. Yoonoh was scared at the sudden touch; he physically jolted, but he calmed down after that. His reaction didn't have an affect on Yuta's worry, "Taeyong is also really delicate, Yoonoh. Don't do this to him, okay? Whatever it is-- this-- pushing him away--? Yeah, stop it. He's really delicate-- more than you think. He's, like, made of paper-- he's got this little paper heart and your little origami fingers are _crushing it_  right now."

"I'm sorry." Yoonoh said. If it was anyone else, Yoonoh would have said _I know_  or _I don't know why I'm being so stupid_ , but Yuta's grip had gotten a little tighter and he was afraid they would start crushing his shoulders. But they didn't; they just pat him softly and then his mouth told Yoonoh "Don't be sorry to me-- be sorry to Taeyong. And go tell him you're sorry, okay?"

"Okay." Yoonoh said-- way too quick and way too sharp. Yuta raised an eyebrow, but he didn't ask. He started to talk away, saying "My boyfriend is waiting for me--" but then he stopped, and he turned around, and he asked, "How are you doing with your cranes, by the way?"

Yoonoh didn't expect Yuta to even remember the cranes. Although Yuta had told him about the Japanese myth, Yoonoh didn't think it would stick with him-- at least, not the fact that he'd told Yoonoh. Yoonoh fumbled for words, "I-- I have twenty more to do," and Yuta pouted his lips, nodded his head, "Nice," and then he was gone. Yuta didn't know about Yoonoh's wish-- or maybe he did. Maybe he was there to talk some sense into Yoonoh, not protect Taeyong's paper heart. Maybe he was there for both. Maybe he was just a wildcard-- that seemed right for Yuta.

Yoonoh started on his way-- had been halfway to lunch when Yuta pulled him over. Yoonoh decided he would talk to Taeyong tomorrow, after he'd had time to fold the rest of his cranes.

 

 

  
"I need to talk to you, hyung. Can you drive home with me?"

Taeyong was silent on the way there. His arms were crossed and he wouldn't look at Yoonoh, but he didn't seem angry. He seemed more upset than anything else-- halfway to angry but mostly just sad. Yoonoh hated himself for making Taeyong feel that way, and he knew there was nothing he could do to make it up to him, but he could explain, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Yoonoh led Taeyong to his childhood bedroom-- nine-hundred ninety-nine paper cranes hanging from the wall. Yoonoh grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and began to fold it while Taeyong walked a bit into the room, looking in amazement at all the cranes. Yoonoh sat down at his desk after the first few folds and pulled out another chair for Taeyong. He called softly to him, "Hyung," and smiled when Taeyong looked at him. He pat the seat next to him, and Taeyong went. He went and he sat; he folded his arms on the table, lay his head against them, and watched Yoonoh's fingers work.

"Yuta was talking to me about you the other day." Yoonoh said. He felt emotional already, and he'd hardly even spoken yet. His fingers were wobbly-- strange, because his nerves were usually killed by the paper, but even it wasn't doing the trick. Yoonoh would just have to fight through it, he supposed. He was, after all, fighting for a dream, and dreams never just _came_. Yoonoh wasn't sure where he got that idea from.

"He told me you were really upset, and I knew that. I knew that because I was the one who made you upset. I pushed you away, and I'm really sorry for that. Truly, I am-- I am _so_ sorry." Yoonoh said. He was sure he didn't sound as sincere as he felt, given he wouldn't even look at Taeyong. He glanced over to see Taeyong staring at the desk, so he supposed eye contact didn't really matter in that moment. He continued, "Yuta told me you were sensitive-- I knew that. He told me you were more sensitive than I thought. He told me you had a paper heart."

Yoonoh looked at Taeyong again. Taeyong was looking back, this time. He had tears in his eyes, and curiosity written across his expression. Yoonoh cleared his throat and looked away, focused on the paper crane he was folding. Almost done, almost done.

"I knew that, though. I've always known it, I think." Yoonoh said. He wanted to drum his fingers, make some noise other than his talking, because he was afraid his voice was going to crack if he didn't. Then he realized _I don't care_ , because Taeyong was his best friend, and Taeyong had been there with him through everything-- the voice cracks cause by puberty, the voice cracks caused by a broken arm, the voice cracks caused by his parent's divorce. He could-- and should-- be here for the voice cracks caused by love.

"I-I started appreciating paper when I met you-- when I was seven years old." Yoonoh said. _Fold, fold, fold_. "Remember how I used to refer to you as my Gentle-Hyung? I used to tease you, because I'd never met someone older than me that was so gentle before. I never saw you as intimidating-- not like the other kids did. You were always happy, and you always sparkled, and I realized that paper was just like you."

Taeyong looked even more confused, yet he was shedding even more tears. Yoonoh wished he could reach for him, and he could, but he had to fold this last crane. He _had_  to achieve his wish-- "People like to put words on you, but they don't belong there. People like to ink you up and color you whatever colors they want, but you don't deserve that. You deserve gentle hands that will help you-- help you grow-- help you fold into what you want to be. You-- you deserve--"

Yoonoh held up the paper crane-- the last little paper crane. Taeyong slowly began to sit up as Yoonoh told him, tears pouring down his own cheeks, "You deserve to be folded into a crane so that you can fly."

For a while, silence. Silence and tears, but Yoonoh wasn't finished, "Yuta told me a lot of things. He told me you were delicate, like paper, and I really needed to be gentle with you. I couldn't just push you away-- no matter what, that wasn't fair. He told me I was good at origami, so I should be good with your heart, too. But I'm an expert at paper bunnies and roses and cranes-- I've never handled a heart before."

Taeyong sniffled, and smiled, "I heard origami hearts are pretty easy to handle."

"They are. But you know what they say about experts-- the simple stuff seems so difficult after a while, because practice makes perfect and hearts are practice and cranes are perfect and I've been folding paper cranes for way too long." Yoonoh said. Taeyong nodded in understanding-- _understanding_. He understood, and he _forgave_ ; he smiled and he _understood_.

"Yuta also told me that folding 1,000 paper cranes would make your wish come true." Yoonoh said. He held the paper crane out for Taeyong, "And, hyung, my wish was you all along."

Taeyong kissed him after Yoonoh had handed him his thousandth paper crane, when the wind had picked up and the other nine-hundred ninety-nine in Yoonoh's room tried to fly away-- and Yoonoh _knew_ ; he knew, after a while, that they would help him.


	9. Mad City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _adrenaline rush_  
>  Mark was kind of, really attracted to Taeyong.  
> [ ~~au~~ concept]: rehersal  
>  ♡ mark and taeyong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love mad city performances so much

Often times, the excitement between rehearsal and performance blended together. Personally, Mark felt the same rush performing in front of a few staff members and his band mates as he did in front of countless cameras and a huge audience. All he really needed was a microphone in his hand, and he felt the rush. Whether he was performing with one of his members, two of them, all of them--he felt it. He felt the adrenaline; he felt the excitement; he felt the passion and the beating of his heart as it played with the beat of music in his ear.

Mark was buzzing as he and Taeyong prepared to rehearse for _Mad City_. It was one of his favorite songs to perform; he had half the song to himself--and it never mattered to him how much he was able to rap as long as he got to dance with his members, too. But it was just him and Taeyong; no dancing (though a few coordinated moves and gestures), and only a bit of singing from Yoonoh in the beginning--so the amount of lines he got balanced out the excitement that he felt. He ran through the lyrics again in his mind--easy, because he wrote them. He twisted his hands around the microphone and suppressed his excited smile, rocking onto his toes and then his heels. He felt comfortable, unlike how he would backstage of an actual performance--simply because he was able to dress himself. He couldn't care less about the clothes once he was actually on stage--but standing around in leather pants and chokers was not comfortable before a performance.

"You look good," Taeyong commented, making his presence known by tapping on Mark's shoulder. He was on Mark's left, but he reached his arm around Mark's shoulder and tapped on his right; so Mark looked over his right shoulder for a second until he felt Taeyong's arm across his shoulders, at which point he turned his smile in Taeyong's actual direction. Taeyong chuckled a bit under his breath, and he put himself in front of Mark to fix the white stings on Mark's gray hoodie. He took a look down to see what else Mark was wearing at a closer angle--plain white shirt that Taeyong couldn't actually see, as it was hidden beneath Mark's hoodie, and plain black jeans to match his plain black hair.

"Thank you, hyung." Mark said. He reached forward to fix the white strings on Taeyong's plain hoodie--red and black. His hoodie, unlike Mark's, had a zipper; and it was open, so Mark could see the light grey shirt beneath it, and he could see how nice it looked with the dark grey ripped jeans on his legs. Similar to Mark, his black hair was unstyled; but he had a cap on rather than a hood over it. Mark loved Taeyong in hats--mostly because of how he put them on. Mark was a bit disappointed that he'd missed the way Taeyong pushed his hair back to place his cap on his head. He looked unbelievably attractive with his hair pushed back, hidden beneath his cap. Mark told him so, in a simple way-- "You look good too, hyung."

"Thank you." Taeyong smiled, and he leaned in to peck Mark's cheek--a habit that he'd tried to shake, thinking he was making Mark uncomfortable; a habit that Mark said was perfectly okay (a habit Mark didn't want Taeyong to lose).

"Ready to have some fun?" Taeyong asked, and Mark peeked behind him to finally notice that Yoonoh was already on stage. They had a few seconds before the song started, and then more seconds before either of them had to go on-stage; but that meant they had to listen for the beat, and they had to make sure to time it well. Rehearsal was fun--yes, they were definitely going to have fun together--but it was serious, too. It was them being prepared to impress their fans. Mark and Taeyong weren't necessarily going to have fun-- Taeyong liked to phrase it like that, because, really, they did mess around during rehearsals, but they both had a certain passion for rapping that didn't physically let them take 'fooling around' with it too far. They were just too into the music; it was hard to shake the underlying passion for too long.

"Absolutely," Mark smiled anyway; and he agreed anyway. The first few beats of the song started after that, and Mark and Taeyong made their way to the edge of the stage. Mark listened to the beat, to Yoonoh's words, and he began to walk at the appropriate time, making it to the center, right behind Yoonoh, by the time Yoonoh was finished singing. Taeyong would do the same thing in a moment; he began to make his way on stage after a few of Mark's lines to join him--back him up. He stood on the other side of the stage until Mark finished his verse, giving Mark the spotlight. He moved in when it was his turn to do so, and he made his way toward Mark, keeping him in the center with him. Mark would escape a bit, giving Taeyong spotlight, too; but Taeyong didn't want the spotlight without Mark, so he kept close.

As the song continued-- chorus coming up-- Mark let his mind flood with thoughts, fill up the empty areas that passion didn't reach quite yet (considering this was only rehearsal). The rapping-- the song-- that stuff was natural, which left room for Mark to look over at Taeyong and be reminded of how beautiful he was, allow himself to think about it for a minute. There was room for Mark to look into the audience and smile at the way their band members were rapping along to whatever words they could catch-- to smile at how animated they were in regards to the music. Taeyong was smiling at them, too; and the hype of their little audience only made them go harder. (Hopefully they didn't lose their voices in the meantime.)

One thought in particular came when Taeyong began coming toward him halfway through the chorus. His heart began to beat at the thought-- the memory of the little stunt Taeyong pulled at this point in the song. _You make me so mad-- I'm gonna be so mad_ \-- on repeat, and Taeyong came closer and closer to Mark. Mark was good at holding back, but he was almost sure Taeyong heard the little breath of air he puffed out as the older's hand came up, palm against his neck, pulling him in close so that their foreheads touched. Mark was just glad he'd pulled his microphone away from his face.

The rehearsal went on after that-- as it should-- with Taeyong and Mark making their way around the stage, practicing their part in hyping up the audience. It was easy to do with a microphone and a natural rhythm of the body; the audience would follow them in their moves, in their words. And follow, they did; even their band members (Yoonoh, too; who had joined them, now) were following along, yelling out the lyrics, some laughter, following (well, more of them were mocking, but still) their moves. The beat changed somewhere, sending the audience into a frenzy of "ooo!" and some shouts of "Mark Lee!" as it presented a smooth transition between Taeyong's rap and Mark's. Taeyong, on the other end of the stage, made his way closer to Mark; this was the point at which they stuck together especially. Taeyong's favorite part was coming up-- a line in Mark's rap that he was so proud of, so touched by. It was a part Mark had written himself, at a point in which Taeyong had been especially depressed because of what people were writing, saying, thinking about him. Taeyong actually broke down crying the first time he heard it; now, though, he just smiled his beautiful smile.

 _Why are they doubting TY?_ Mark asked, and their little audience sang along-- screamed that part the loudest; and Taeyong's smile was brighter than any of the stage lights would be that night. Mark tried hard not to smile back; it was difficult to rap when he was smiling, especially if he let himself smile as much as he wanted to. He simply turned his eyes away and went with the rest of the song-- went with the hype, went with the lyrics, went with the beat. Taeyong played around a little more-- tugged on Mark's hoodie and played up the skinship a bit. It was kind of distracting, but only because Mark was attracted to Taeyong. He wondered if Taeyong was going to do that in the live performance. (He might be able to hold himself together even better in front of an audience of fans, but he was definitely going to be thinking about this later that night. Damn his feelings, really.)

The two of them finished strong, panting for breath. Their members cheered for them-- hell, they were louder than their audience later might be. Mark finally let himself smile-- smile because of his members, because of the rush, because of Taeyong and his much deserved pride and his little touches. Another one of those touches came in the form of hand-holding; Taeyong grabbed for Mark's hand as they were stepping down from the stage, finding some water and a little fan to crouch in front of. Taeyong was silent for a while-- up until they'd both gotten water and settled in front of some cool air. Then he looked at Mark, reached over and touched the boy's shoulder, "You did great out there."

"You too, hyung." Mark said, nodding to say _thank you_ , smiling to show his joy at the compliment. In a moment, Mark knew the others were going to come backstage to prepare for the next performance if nothing else (but they were definitely going to talk about Mark and Taeyong's performance, too; Mark knew-- and Dongyoung would more likely than not point out the fact that Yoonoh was there for a little bit and he did really good, too, because Dongyoung was all about making sure nobody was left out; and then Yoonoh would blush under the little pats to his back and the little compliments, the sudden attention). But, for another moment or two, Mark had Taeyong to himself, so he closed his eyes and leaned his head against Taeyong's shoulder-- and Taeyong reached around his back and played with his hair, worried voice asking, "You okay?"-- worried about Mark's health, his stamina. He was always so worried, because Mark did so much; but Mark nodded, "Just a little tired, hyung. I just need like two minutes," and Taeyong nodded, protected Mark from the excited buzz of their band members by keeping him close, stroking his hair to keep him soothed.

("So cute," Taeil cooed at them; and if he meant the way Taeyong held him, gave him whatever he needed-- then yes, he agreed. Taeyong was definitely cute.)


	10. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _hey! (you suck)_  
>  \- Ten looked at Water War through astrology.  
> [au]: astrology  
> ♡ SR15B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a useless ~~ly long~~ one shot  
>  also if this seems dumb and confusing it's because I don't know how to write about people playing games??

"Rock, paper, scissors-- _dammit_." Youngho said, pulling his hand back--already a fist. Taeyong chose paper-- who the hell chooses paper, anyway?-- and celebrated happily, immediately turning to Ten to grab his hand with his paper-like palm. There went the best player-- _and_  Youngho's boyfriend. (Youngho might just kick Taeyong's ass one day-- _soon_.)

"Mark," Youngho said, already making a gesture for the younger English-speaker. Mark smiled, and he made his way to Youngho quickly. The two of them were great together-- Yoonoh, too. Youngho bit his tongue as he waited for Ten to make a choice; it was a relay of picking team members after the first game of rock, paper, scissors. Taeyong chose, and then whoever he chose got to choose next-- after Youngho chose, of course, and then the person Youngho chose got to choose another-- all the way down the line.

"Yuta-hyung," Ten said, holding both hands out for the man, and Yuta sprung forward quickly, practically jumped into Ten's arms. They were close. They kind of sucked at working together, and they often split up anyway, but they celebrated together like _mad_. (It was almost kind of annoying, how happy those two got when they won--and it was also annoying how annoyed they got when they lost. At least, with each other, they could complain to themselves--no one else. But that meant a whole lot of silent treatment and, sometimes, Youngho felt like kicking Yuta's ass, too.)

It was Mark's turn to pick next, and Youngho finally tuned back in when he heard Yoonoh's deep call of "Nice!", because Mark had silently held out one hand, and he knew. They all knew. And Youngho celebrated quietly, because Mark and Yoonoh-- together-- were just about impossible to take down. But then Yuta chose Jeno; and they were pretty damn impossible to take down, too. Yuta was smart and Jeno was sneaky; and they were both out to get practically everyone that was left to be chosen (and some of them _would_  end up on Youngho's team.)

"Dongyoung-hyung," Yoonoh called, and Dongyoung balled up both fists in silent celebration, high-fiving Yoonoh when he was close enough. He had a happy smile on his face--happy to not be one of the last ones chosen, finally. Jeno was quick to pick Donghyuck after that, as he was also chosen last more often than not; and Donghyuck had about the same reaction--happy, proud smile and a little promise of "I'll destroy these hyungs!" and they all couldn't help but laugh, because he was cute.

Three players left-- "Jaeminnie," and then there were two.

"Mmm...." Donghyuck looked at the last two members. His eyes lingered on Taeil, and they all knew he would choose Taeil, but he liked to be funny and he liked to tease so he took his time considering, looking back and forth between the two men. Taeil was a better player-- clearly, he was; and the only reason he hadn't been chosen to that point was because everyone chose their best friends; Taeyong would have chosen him first if he'd lost rock-paper-scissors. (Really, the only reason Youngho and Taeyong even had to play was because they both wanted Ten.)

"Taeil-hyung," Donghyuck finally said, and they all welcomed Taeil with happy laughs and open arms. Hansol did not get the same happy treatment from his team; and he groaned right back at the displeased sounds he got and frowned, half truly unhappy but also kind of playful--because no one was ever _that_  serious within the group, "Why do you hate me so much?"

"You _suck_ , hyung. Plus, Yuta's _always_  out to get you." Dongyoung said. Hansol squinted his eyes, punched Dongyoung's arm, but did nothing otherwise; and Dongyoung whined a bit, but Taeyong was speaking over him, announcing-- "We'll all meet at the warehouse-- tomorrow, right? Noon? Lots and lots of water!" and half of them chorused "Yes, hyung," and the other half just hummed in agreement. They split after coming up with a few game plans (like who would hold the flag, this time, and who would bother themselves with the water balloons) and _promising_  they would be there-- no matter what happened tomorrow. (Unless someone died. In which case, they could totally re-schedule to, like, next week or something.)

"Tae!" Youngho called as everyone was preparing to leave, and both Taeyong and Taeil turned. Youngho wondered, "Are you color, this time?"

"Yeah, we'll be color." Taeyong said, and he turned to inform his teammates, and Youngho turned to inform his-- "Everyone wear black tomorrow, okay? All black," and Dongyoung protested, "But it's going to be bright out," and Yoonoh laughed at him, "We're going to be soaked anyway!" and Dongyoung shook his head, "Not me. I will not lose another water war against Ten," and, yeah, if they really planned on winning, they probably should have chosen color. (They were all going to be _very_  hot tomorrow.)

"Don't worry, Dongyoung! I've got your back-- I'll make sure you get soaked tomorrow!" Ten called, and he wore his best smile when Dongyoung looked over, and Dongyoung just smiled back, but he rolled his eyes when they turned away from each other. Youngho pat Dongyoung's back softly, "Don't worry, we'll get them," and Dongyoung looked at Youngho, smile teasing at his lips, "You sure, hyung? You're whipped for him," and Youngho shrugged, "Yeah, but he sided with Taeyong and I'm _so_  ready to get back at him," and Dongyoung nodded, "Alright."

"We should get going," Hansol said, looking down at his watch, "It's getting late--kids should go and eat. We'll meet at noon, right?"

"Sharp." Youngho confirmed, and they all parted ways. Mark walked with Jaemin; Donghyuck and Jeno tagged along, as they all lived on the same block. (Youngho wouldn't be surprised if they all piled into one house and had dinner together.) Yuta and Taeyong rode their bikes-- always did. Taeyong would ride down to Yuta's house with him and then turn around and go back to his own place. Yoonoh and Dongyoung disappeared somewhere--definitely not home. Taeil and Hansol walked each other to their separate cars-- and Ten hopped into Youngho's.

"I've been studying astrology lately, hyung." Ten said. Youngho hadn't even started the car; usually, Ten took a little bit longer to start up a conversation like that. Youngho loved Ten's ideas, and he loved Ten's love for knowledge. So he asked, "How has that been going for you, baby?" as he was starting up the car. He reached to strap himself in, as well. Ten was more attentive than him-- had already done so for himself.

"I don't really believe in it, but it's interesting." Ten said. Ten was more of a logic thinker; of course he wouldn't believe in stars and planets and suns and moons to define a person. People were born when they were born and they were raised how they were raised and their personality came from science, not the galaxy. But it _was_  an interesting concept.

"I like to think about our water fights in the astrology spectrum. It's interesting to think about it when we're working together or against each other. Like, if we apply astrology to the game, it makes sense why we choose who we do. We choose our friends, but we're _all_  friends. We choose who we don't want to fight against, and who makes us complete." Ten said. Youngho had started driving; Ten stretched out against the seat, "I studied the months and the years-- the Pisces, the Aquarius, the Rats and the Pigs. They were both really interesting."

"In what ways?" Youngho asked. He had always found astrology particularly interesting, as well. He knew his share of astrology-- but he knew the Pisces, the Aquarius, the Gemini, the Leo; he didn't really study up on the Rats and the Pigs and the Dogs. Growing up in North America, where the astrology of particular dates was more popular and more believed than the astrology of years, Youngho knew much, much more about the dates. He was interested to hear what Ten had to say about the years.

"Well... Yuta and Hansol, for example. Why do you think they always butt heads?" Ten asked, and Youngho didn't have a good answer for that. He could think about a Scorpio with another Scorpio-- two Scorpio friends. As far as he knew, that was a good thing-- most Scorpians had another Scorpian as a friend just to balance them out. Ten, however, was thinking in years-- "Yuta was born in a year of the Pig, same as you. Yuta doesn't make many friends, but he makes them well-- and he's loyal, too. Hansol is a Dog; that's when he was born. He's also loyal, but he doesn't necessarily make friends. Rather, people make friends with _him_. Because of his personality-- his amazing traits, and his ability to keep secrets well, people want to be his friend."

Youngho nodded. That sounded right; everyone loved Hansol, and Yuta clearly had a few favorites within the group-- people he would always be friends with, and others that he wouldn't hate himself for drifting away from. Youngho could already feel those vibes, but Ten wasn't finished yet, "Now, they were both born around the same month-- late October and late November, which makes them both Scorpio. That's a good thing for their friendship-- just like being a Pig and Dog are. But, the mix of Pig, Dog, and Scorpio is actually kind of messy. A popular trait of a Scorpio is jealousy. If you relate this to their traits as Pig and Dog, you get two people who don't have many friends but are loyal to their friends, are friends with each other, and are _jealous_. Not only that, but they're stubborn."

Youngho didn't follow right away. Luckily, Ten wasn't done explaining. "So, you have Yuta-- a loyal man with, like, four close friends; and those four people will be just about the only people he keeps close. And then you have Hansol-- another loyal man with a million friends, none of which are any closer than another, simply because we all threw ourselves at him at the same time, and his loyalty keeps him at pace with all of us. And then you have the fact that they understand each other best because of their similarities. They kind of need each other."

"So... they want to only be friends with one another, right? Because of that similarity?" Youngho asked. Ten nodded, "Just about. They need each other, and they're jealous of the fact that they have more close friends-- _especially_  Yuta, because Hansol has so many. Actually, even though Hansol is a Scorpio, he could care less. He cares some, but not too much. But I think that's just Hansol. He's always a little oblivious."

Youngho laughed a bit. Ten did, too, and then he sighed, "Ah, but that's just my understanding. There's a lot more to fit into the equation, too. And, really, I only believe that in terms of our wars-- why they never end up on the same team, why Yuta always takes Hansol out. They're violent-- Scorpio people. But they love their family and their friends, so they'd never really hurt each other. They take their aggression and jealousy out like this. It's good for them--these fights."

Youngho nodded. He blinked his eyes up in thought, making sure he took the next left before he got too distracted, "So... would there be a reason that Hansol doesn't take Yuta out, too? Other than the fact that Yuta is, like, extremely sneaky."

"Hansol, as a person, really cherishes his younger brothers. He's the oldest of us-- second to Taeil-hyung-- and he wouldn't hurt any of us, even in play." Ten said, smiled, "He's just a sweetheart."

"A Scorpio _and_  a softie. How strange." Youngho chuckled. He pulled up to his and Ten's shared apartment, and he turned off the car and he pulled his keys out of the ignition but he stay in the car; Ten, too. They were both silent for a little while, and then Youngho turned to look at Ten. "So you only believe in astrology when we're playing water war."

"Not everything can be defined by astrology. Nowhere in the description of a Scorpio or a Dog does it say _oblivious and super, super caring and loving and soft for younger men_ \-- but we have Ji Hansol." Ten said, and they both laughed. Of course, astrology couldn't be the answer for everything. If that was the case, Youngho didn't think many of them would be friends. They wouldn't have formed this kind of friendship group. Pisces and Aquarius didn't normally get along well as friends; their relationship was uneasy. Ten and Dongyoung... well, actually, Youngho could connect those dots. Ten and Yoonoh, though, were very close. (Youngho supposed it could really go either way with a Pisces and an Aquarius.)

"I think astrology underlies everything." Ten said, "It's the base of us, I think-- the soul of us, but there's much, much more on the surface and in-between. Our individual morals and values-- thought and feelings-- is what makes us human; it's what makes us able to truly interact with _anyone_. Whether or not we become friends or something more or something less depends on more than astrology, but I think-- perhaps-- that could be a play in it, too. Those people you hate for _no reason at all_ \-- I feel like that comes from astrology-- from our sign or our animal warning us _you will bite their head off one day-- don't get into that mess_."

"Or those people you really, really like as soon as you see them." Youngho mentioned, with a laugh in his voice (Ten was quite funny), "Love at first sight; when two animals or two signs are really, really attracted. I think that comes from a mix of both. Like a Rat that happens to be a Pisces was very, very beautiful to a Pig that happened to be an Aquarius."

Ten had to think for a moment, but he reacted well when he finally connected the dots. He rolled his eyes in amusement, and he painted his lips with a fond smile, and he slapped Youngho's arm, but he kissed him, too.

"I'm hungry." Ten said-- no words in response to what Youngho said, but the kiss and the pretty smile were enough. He got out of the car, and Youngho followed, making sure he locked it up before he walked around the car and grabbed for Ten's hand. He couldn't help but feel warmer, now that he knew he and Ten matched on an astrological level, as well... perhaps. Youngho didn't actually know for sure. (He didn't need to know, he thought. He was fine with just believing in the fact that astrology and individuality brought them together, somehow.)

 

\- + -

 

Youngho woke up to an onslaught of soft kisses. He peeled his eyes open when the lips fell away, and he was met with Ten hovering above him, little smile on his lips. Youngho smiled right back, and he pursed his lips again, and he closed his eyes, hoping for another kiss. He got two fingers against his lips and a mention of, "Your teammate has been texting you for twenty minutes, hyung."

"Which one?" Youngho asked, gently pulling Ten's hand away from his lips. Ten reached over to grab Youngho's phone, pressed his home screen button, and said "Hansol-hyung," and then he handed the phone off to Youngho. Youngho rubbed his sleepy eyes and scrolled through the ten messages he'd gotten-- one of which was actually from Taeyong, a provoking text of _We're going to destroy you today ;)_

(Youngho decided to ignore that one.)

 _Youngho._  
_Youngho._  
_I want breakfast._  
_Youngho._  
_Youngho._  
_Come to breakfast with me._  
_Youngho._  
_Youngho._  
_YOUNGHO!!_

The last message was sent three minutes ago. Youngho was much more for calls than messages, so he unlocked his phone and clicked on Hansol's contact. It rung three times, and then Hansol picked up, "Finally! I've been messaging you for twenty minutes."

"So Ten has told me." Youngho said. He sat up, rubbed his eyes again. He looked at the clock. 9:45. If they left soon, they could eat breakfast and get to the warehouse by noon-- easy. "So, you want to go to breakfast?"

"I want to go to breakfast." Hansol confirmed. Youngho glanced at Ten, who was now on his phone. Youngho decided to ask, just to make sure, "Just us?" and Hansol hummed, "If you want to bring Ten, that's fine. But I also kind of wanted to discuss game plan," and Youngho might have laughed at the way he took this game so seriously if he didn't take it just as serious. So he said, "Okay. I'll pick you up," and Hansol hummed again-- in disagreement this time, "I'm already on my way," and Youngho laughed, "What if I said no?" and Hansol laughed, too, "You wouldn't."

"Good point. See you in--?" Youngho stopped. Hansol finished, "--five," and then they hung up on one another. Youngho lay down in a different position-- his head by Ten's thigh, and he leaned up a bit to kiss Ten's arm. Ten was distracted by his phone, simply giving a hum in response to Youngho's kiss. Youngho kissed his arm again, and Ten glanced at him, but still did nothing. Youngho kissed him again. Again, again-- "Do you want something, hyung?"

"I want to tell you that Hansol and I are going to breakfast and that I love you." Youngho said. Ten nodded, "I love you, too. Have fun."

"Are you texting someone?" Youngho asked, wondered what someone could be saying that had Ten so distracted. Ten shook his head, putting an end to that wonder, "I'm reading up on astrology again," and it made sense why he was so distracted. He was always very immersed when he was studying something or reading something interesting. He scrolled once, twice, and then he looked at Youngho, "You should go, hyung-- Hansol-hyung will be here any minute."

Youngho sighed, "I know. I just don't want to leave my baby yet," and Ten rolled his eyes, pushed Youngho's shoulder, "Go away, you clingy Pig," and then he paused, "Wait. That sounded a lot more mean than I meant-- I mean-- you're the year of the Pig-- a _Boar_ \--" and Youngho laughed, pushed himself up onto his elbows to kiss Ten, "I know, baby."

"I love you," Ten made sure to say, tilting his head down to kiss Youngho again, and Youngho nodded, "I love you too, Rat," and Ten squinted at him as he rolled off the bed, laughing, and grabbed for some clothes. He reached for his red hoodie, and he had it over his head when Ten told him to "Wear all black, hyung," and Youngho had very well forgotten about that-- and he pulled the hoodie back off and tossed it into the back of the closet, grabbed a new shirt and found a black pair of pants. He got dressed; he put on deodorant; he put on his cologne (one that Hansol had bought him and would likely recognize); and he kissed Ten one last time before leaving, phone and wallet in pocket and hand. He walked outside just as Hansol was pulling up, and he waved before climbing into the car.

"Yoonoh and Mark and doing the water balloons. Is your gun still at the warehouse?" Hansol asked, and Youngho nodded. He wasn't sure if Hansol saw him nod, as he was busy looking back, making sure he could safely back out of the driveway. But Youngho had a comment about it, anyway, "I always leave my gun there--" so Hansol's question was answered either way.

"Do we have a game plan?" Hansol wondered as he was driving. _No_ , they absolutely did not; but Youngho's team never had a game plan-- and, come to think of it, neither did Taeyong's. The plans came when people paired up; Taeyong and Ten would have a plan later; Mark and Yoonoh would have a plan; Yuta and Jeno would _definitely_  have a plan. Youngho and Hansol might have a plan, should they decide to stick together, but Hansol was very good at getting lost by himself and then getting double-teamed by Yuta and Jeno, so. That was his plan.

"I don't think we need one." Youngho said, confidence oozing. He leaned back against the seat, and he pulled out his phone to reply to Taeyong with the sudden confidence in mind-- _Good luck!_

 _Luck has nothing to do with it_ , Taeyong replied, not a second later, and Youngho decided to stay kind of salty and ignore it again.

"You going to choose Yuta as your representative assassin again?" Youngho asked. Part of the game's rule was to choose someone from the other team to kill you-- and to respect the honors system and come out and say it if the person chosen to kill you does. Hansol chose Yuta every year, and Yuta knew it, too. Yuta would pull Jeno along with him and they would find a way to attack Hansol together and get him out-- easy.

"I always do." Hansol said. Youngho wondered, though he'd asked before, "Why? You could probably win if you just didn't choose Yuta."

Hansol had the same reply time after time; at first, it was a shrug, and then it was "Because he likes to kill me in these games."

"You two should probably just go out." Youngho said. Hansol had just pulled up to the restaurant they were going to have breakfast at-- Yangnam Breakfast. Youngho almost immediately spotted Dongyoung by the window, giggling with someone across from him. Youngho pointed toward the diner and asked, "Is Dongyoung having breakfast with us?" and Hansol frowned, "No."

Youngho had some _investigating_  to do-- so he hopped out of the car and he dragged Hansol along quickly. They entered the diner undetected and, while Hansol was talking to the woman at the front that would soon lead them to their seats, Youngho snuck around the corner to see who Dongyoung was talking to.

"Hyung!" Dongyoung waved. Yoonoh turned around and waved, too. Dongyoung gestured him over, told him "Come eat with us! We just ordered drinks--" and Youngho went to grab Hansol quickly, telling him and the kind lady that was going to seat them that they would just sit at the table with their friends, who were sitting in a booth and had plenty of room, anyway.

"Mark and Jaemin are doing the water balloons." Dongyoung informed as Youngho and Hansol were sitting down. Youngho remembered that it was supposed to be Mark and Yoonoh, but it didn't matter who did them, really, as long as they got done. They could only use what they showed up with, after all, and it would be a shame if they forgot water balloons. (Those things were lethal; most of the kills were made by water balloons.)

"I've been thinking about how to play this time." Dongyoung said. He pulled out a notepad-- an actual notepad with actual plans-- and Youngho was starting to love how seriously they all took their little game of water war.

"Here's the plan...."

 

\- + -

 

"I already regret being the flag holder."

Dongyoung had planned everything out to the littlest detail (apart from who would kill Hansol, because Hansol _insisted_  on it being Yuta and Dongyoung had to change a few names around), and he already regretted it. If that said anything about their team, well. Youngho doubted if they would win today.

"Do you want me to do it?" Hansol asked, reluctantly holding out his palms for the flag. Dongyoung seemed to consider for a moment; then he shook his head, "No, no-- I changed way too much just so you could get assassinated by Yuta. Plus, that would mean _I_ would have to be killed by Yuta and he would _for sure_  figure that out and I would really rather not die today."

"He won't _actually_  kill you, you know." Youngho decided to point out. Hansol started to say something; Dongyoung interrupted, "Um, maybe not _Hansol_ \-- but me, yes."

Youngho wasn't even going to argue; he did believe it. Before he had a chance to say much, anyway, his phone buzzed-- his particularly out of the pile of them on the ground. Youngho moved past Dongyoung and Hansol, past the bucket of water balloons and Jaemin and Mark beside it, still tying together the last of them. Yoonoh had his phone in his hand by the time Youngho got to them-- likely thought it was his own. He handed it off when Youngho was near, and Youngho looked at the message-- another from Taeyong, but one Youngho wouldn't ignore this time.

_Ready?_

Youngho nodded. _Ready._

"Let's go!" Youngho called, perhaps a little too excited. He got a loud response from his team members; half of them threw their hands into the air, and they all let out an excited call. They gathered their water guns, their water balloons, and strapped their extra water bottles to their waists. Youngho heard the excited calls of Taeyong's team, and he smirked, somehow already feeling the triumph. He knew they would win today; he knew it.

"Go team, go!" Dongyoung sang, lifting the flag into the air, dropping it a bit, lifting it again, dropping it a bit. He'd always had an exceptional voice and attitude; he was energetic and talented, and Youngho always felt confident with him on the same team. Even though Dongyoung was quite bad at the game (with a horrible aim and the odd ability to break any water gun he touched-- the reason he even volunteered to be the flag holder), Youngho was happy the team had him. Dongyoung never lost.

Youngho's team came face-to-face with Taeyong's team soon enough. The first thing Youngho spotted was a clear umbrella in Yuta's hand. Jaemin had a matching one-- one that Youngho saw when his team met at the warehouse, and he'd commented with a grin, an arm around Jaemin's shoulder-- "You're a genius--" but Yuta had the same idea; or perhaps one had gotten the idea from the other. They were neighbors, after all. (Jaemin was still a genius in Youngho's eyes.)

The second thing Youngho noticed-- a person, actually-- was Jisung, Taeyong's younger brother. He had no water gun or balloon but had goggles on, and he had a little device in his left hand, a little checkered flag in his right. He was clinging to Taeyong's leg, though he wasn't actually that tiny. He was thirteen and he was crouching, his arms looped around Taeyong's knee. He was actually quite tall for his age, was up near Taeyong's shoulder when he stretched to full height.

"Let's start with a five minute grace period--" Ten started before Youngho could ask why Jisung was there. He looked pointedly at Dongyoung as he was speaking, though his gaze shifted to Youngho sometimes just to look at him, "Simple war-- no one dies. When the timer goes off--" and Jisung held up the little device, and Ten gestured to it, "--our invincibility is up."

Youngho didn't understand why they would do such a thing until Ten pointed-- actually pointed, this time-- at Dongyoung, "So that you guys aren't hot."

"Okay," Dongyoung called, actually seeming happy to get soaked. (Youngho didn't blame him; he thought he wouldn't quite mind, what with the afternoon sun beating down into his black-clad back.) Jisung let go of Taeyong's legs as Mark and Donghyuck-- respective holders of their team's water buckets-- started to move, handing everyone a water balloon or two before moving their buckets off to different corners-- team babes. Youngho's team had a blue bucket and blue balloons; Taeyong's team had orange. Once everyone's hands were full of either color and the black or white or green handle of a water gun, and Jisung was off to the side, Jisung raised the flag, pressed a little button, and then swung the flag toward the ground, signalling that their five minutes had started. Immediately, Jisung and Yuta unfurled their umbrellas, immediately blocking all of the water. Hansol chucked a water balloon at the same time as Donghyuck; and, surprisingly enough, the balloons hit each other and exploded before they could reach across the middle barrier. Yuta was brave enough to charge for Youngho's team, shooting pointedly at Hansol and Dongyoung. Dongyoung waved the flag around to block the water. He could take out the little gun in his pocket, but he clearly chose to save the water for when he was being chased later, and he chucked his water balloon at Yuta instead.

It was hard to see over the splashes of water everywhere, hard to hear any particular thing over the laughter and screaming. Youngho didn't particularly wanted to say or hear anything, anyhow. All he wanted to hear was the laughter, and all he wanted to say was a contribution to it-- and so he did. He laughed, and he shot Yoonoh by accident, and then he aimed for Taeyong, and Jeno, who had followed Yuta into Youngho's team. He spotted Taeyong and Donghyuck teaming up on Jaemin, but Jaemin was hidden behind his umbrella, so they weren't going to do much. He saw Jeno shoot at Yoonoh, and he worried his bottom lip for a minute until he remembered _nobody dies yet_.

And then, all of a sudden, the five minutes was up. Jisung was holding up the beeping timer and waving his checkered flag and laughing as everyone scattered, desperately running from the person who may eventually kill them and running after the person they may have to kill.

 

 

 

 

HOUR ONE | YOUNGHO'S TEAM

\- 12:07  
**Youngho**  didn't see where everyone had scattered to. He remembered seeing Yoonoh and Jaemin run off after Jeno and Ten and Taeil and feeling surprised that Yuta had decided to follow Donghyuck instead of going with Jeno, but he was sure they would find each other and Hansol, who had disappeared. He wasn't sure where Taeyong went, but he was sure they hadn't gone in the same direction. Youngho didn't see him, or anyone. He was by himself, carefully seeking out anyone he might have to kill. He had an idea of which member of the opposing team had chosen him, but he doubted if he would be able to kill him.

"Hyung!" someone called, and Youngho turned. Mark was running after him, laughing at the fact that he'd found Youngho-- what a chance. Youngho laughed, too, holding out his arm for Mark, who was running a bit to catch up with him. When Mark was under his arm, Youngho was still laughing, saying "He-- ey-- why aren't you with Yoonoh?" and Mark tilted his head, a shrug about his shoulders, "We're going to meet up later. Why are you alone?"

"A strong guy like me doesn't need a partner. Plus, Taeyong is way attracted to groups, somehow." Youngho said. Mark nodded, understanding. They were silent for a moment. Youngho had just opened his mouth to say something when Jisung appeared around the corner, and Taeyong was running around the corner, laughing by himself and telling Jisung "He'll never find me--" and then he stopped dead when he saw Youngho. That was his tell; Youngho raised his gun, and Taeyong yelled. Youngho had barely pulled the trigger three times when Taeyong was ducking behind Jisung, scooping the skinny boy up with one arm, screaming "Don't kill the baby!"

Youngho couldn't even concentrate on firing after that. Mark had already collapsed to the floor, busting out in enough laughter to bring tears to his eyes. Youngho couldn't help but fall to his knees, too, covering his head in case Taeyong tried to shoot him.

"Did you pick me, Youngho?" Taeyong called, still hiding behind Jisung, who was tense and holding Taeyong's arm but not protesting otherwise. Youngho admitted it, "Ye-- eah--" through laughter, and Taeyong carefully put Jisung down, handed him the gun and raised his hands, "I picked you, too. Friendly duel? Since we found each other?"

"Ok-- ka-- kay--" Youngho got to his feet, leaving his gun on the ground since Taeyong had all but surrendered. Mark also got to his feet, but he collected his gun and told Youngho, "H-hyung-- I'm-- gonna go find Yoonoh-hyung--" and Youngho pat his back, told him "Take someone down, okay?" and Mark promised he would; and then it was just Youngho and Taeyong and Jisung.

"Back-to-back, hyungs!" Jisung said happily, moving to collect Youngho's gun from the ground. Youngho turned his back to Taeyong; Taeyong turned his back to Youngho. They stood like that for a moment while Jisung move around them, making sure they were standing straight, feet together, and then handing them their guns. He stood to their side and held up his little checkered flag again. He swung it to the ground a little slower than he had when he was waving it for the whole group. Youngho started to walk forward-- "Five quick paces," Jisung had told him. They were doing it like a quick draw-- walk away from each other, turn around, and shoot. Whoever got hit first-- dead. Youngho took his five steps, turned, and almost had a heart attack when he saw Taeyong about three feet from him, his gun already in Youngho's face. Youngho held his hand up to block the water, telling Taeyong "Hey! Cheater--" but he was laughing and he was being shot with water, his hair soaked, and Jisung jumped and laughed and said "Hyung! Hyung wins!" and it didn't even matter that Taeyong cheated; it was just a game and Youngho couldn't say no to Jisung.

"Taeyong got me." Youngho muttered, laughter still filtering through his voice. Jisung celebrated with Taeyong, and the two ran off after Taeyong had helped Youngho to his feet. Taeyong promised-- "We'll get the rest of your team, too!" and Youngho glared but with no real heat behind it.

 

\- 12:14  
**Dongyoung**  was not the best athlete. Trying to outrun Donghyuck and _Yuta_  was about to give him a damn heart attack-- but so far he'd avoided their water balloons and their water gun attacks. Trying to hit them-- ha. That was funny; Dongyoung was awful at handling a gun, even one made of plastic and full of water.

"Get him! Get him!" Yuta amused, urging Donghyuck on. Donghyuck laughed, tried a little harder. The two were keeping somewhat of a distance, though, because Dongyoung could kill either one of them should he hit them in the head with his water gun. It was a shame he had wasted both of his water balloons so far on trying to hit Yuta in their invincible round. Really, a shame.

"Ah, hyung," Donghyuck whined when he was out of breath. He caught Yuta's arm and they both let Dongyoung run away, out of sight. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he heard Yuta's laugh and he heard heavy footsteps as they climbed the stairs of the building they'd just passed. He heard Yuta call "Jeno!" but ran too far away from them to hear anything after that.

"Oh geez," Dongyoung said to himself, finding somewhere to rest. He was out of breath but he was still smiling, holding his heart and enjoying himself. This game was much too fun to play.

 

\- 12:22  
**Hansol**  heard Yuta's voice calling Jeno's name. He was wandering between some buildings that were familiar to him. He always hid out here during the games, waiting for someone to run into him because he was honestly a bit too lazy to hunt for anyone. He usually got pretty lucky-- found someone, hit them with a water balloon, got them to tell him who would kill him. He couldn't deliver the news to his teammates, though, because he always managed to find his teammates _on the mark_ , when second hour hit and they all met up again and changed who was going to kill them. Still, he felt some satisfaction in making someone confess to him.

Hansol hadn't been wondering where exactly Yuta was for more than two minutes when a handful of water balloons _rained_  from the sky, breaking against his shoulders and his head. He gasped at the sudden hits, the sudden cold on his back. He heard laughter from up above and couldn't help but smile himself, tilting his head up at the sky. His hand came to his hat to keep it on his head; he squinted his eyes, closing one completely against the brightness of the sun. Yuta and Jeno were at the top of the stairs of the building Hansol was next to, and they were laughing and high-fiving and pointed down at Hansol and celebrating. Hansol could do nothing but laugh-- laugh and tell Yuta "You got me again!" and laugh a little more when Yuta told him "You suck, hyung!" and Hansol knew; he knew it. He did, he sucked at this game (but he was a suck _er_  for Yuta, and that was the only reason, really).

 

\- 12:33  
**Yoonoh**  had chased Ten, Jeno, and Taeil for a little too long; he and Mark were exhausted by now. They stopped to stretch their legs and catch their breath when they'd lost Ten-- and then Taeil-- and finally Jeno. They were back near their base; they could see their bucket of water balloons and decided they were safe.

Bad choice.

"Fire!" Yoonoh heard someone scream when Mark had wandered off to grab some more water balloons and refill his water gun. Yoonoh looked to see Jeno and Donghyuck aiming their water guns, and then they both started shooting. It felt like buckets of water hit Yoonoh; it blurred his sight and he fell back, a little too dramatic as he hit the couch. He knew the kids liked when he played around, so he lay there and pretended to be dead, made sure his chest rose heavy so they didn't think he'd passed out or something like that. He heard Mark's dramatic wail of "Hyung!" and a water gun skid across the ground, hit his leg, and then Mark's hands were on his shoulders, his chest, and Yoonoh coughed up some of the water in his mouth just to play some more; and he fell dead again and Mark yelled-- dramatic and playful and completely ridiculous-- and he grabbed his gun and he started shooting but then he was falling back, too. Yoonoh had just peeked an eye open when a water balloon flew and hit Mark's chest, and Mark grunted, his hand coming to his heart. He pointed in the direction it had come, "Hey! I'm already dead!" and heard laughter as the two little criminals ran off, triumphed by their kills.

"Funny that the two we chose just so _happened_  to team up." Yoonoh muttered. Mark held onto Yoonoh's hand, told him "Brothers die together" in English; Yoonoh laughed, but he agreed. (Better they both died than be left without each other; they weren't very good without each other, after all.)

 

\- 12:37  
**Jaemin**  ran around and tried, tried, tried to find Dongyoung, because he'd heard that Mark and Yoonoh were already dead, and so was Youngho, and Hansol was gone and he really needed to protect their flag holder. If he was with Dongyoung, he was allowed to protect him. It was in the rules: anyone with the flag holder can kill anyone who tries to attack the flag holder.

Except he didn't get that far, because Dongyoung was already being wrestled to the ground by Taeyong and Ten and Jaemin tried to shoot at them but Taeil had their flag and Ten threw a water balloon at him and _wow, it just had to be Ten, didn't it?_   Jaemin had been pretty confident that Ten wouldn't figure it out. (How could he not, though? Everyone in Jaemin's team was dead; the only one left was him, and the only one who _hadn't_  killed someone was Ten.)

"We win! We win!" Taeyong called, jumping up and down excitedly. Jaemin looked at the little waterproof watch he had and laughed, because it had only taken Taeyong's team half an hour to kill each and everyone one of them. _Wow_.

Taeyong was good.

 

 

 

 

("Is there an astrological reason as to why your team completely wrecked mine today?" Youngho asked when he and Ten were laying in bed, lips tired from kissing and confessions-- Ten's that "I chose you to kill me, hyung," and Youngho's almost wonder of "I thought Taeyong chose me, though?" but his actual one of "I don't think I would have been able to, baby," and Ten's eye roll and his hit to Youngho's chest and then a whole lot of kisses after that.

"No. But there's a _logical_  one." Ten said. Youngho hoped to hear it, so he tilted his head, and he hummed. Ten ran his fingers through Youngho's hair, kissed him softly, and told him "You really, really suck, hyung.")


	11. Limitless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _for love_  
>  **doyoung:** I thought this chat was dead  
>  [au]: visual and performance arts academy  
> ♡ platonic(-ish) nct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The rough version of the limitless music video looks like an oddly successful film class project."_

**art kids**  
_hyuck, mark lee, jae, doyoung, winwin!, seo, taeyong, nakamoto, moon_

 **winwin!:** hello,  
**winwin!:** can everyone help us?

 **seo:** sicheng ! nice !  
**seo:** I didn't even think about this app

 **winwin!:** I told you I would contact everyone on here, hyung  
**winwin!:** you never listen to me :(

 **jae:** whoa I forgot all about this app  
**jae:** hi sicheng, hi johnny

 **taeyong:** hi!  
**taeyong:** I forgot about this app, too

 **seo:** I kind of thought everyone deleted this  
**seo:** can you guys help us out with something?

 **taeyong:** yeah, what's up?

 **doyoung:** oh no  
**doyoung:** which one of you headasses opened this chat again  
**doyoung:** I thought it died

 **jae:** oh my god doyoung be nice sicheng and johnny need help

 **seo:** I forgot how much doyoung hated us all

 **doyoung:** this chat is a nightmare  
**doyoung:** is ten still here

 **jae:** I think he left for some reason

 **seo:** the app kept crashing his phone

 **doyoung:** good

 **seo:** I think he got a new phone though :o  
**seo:** maybe I should,, add him back

 **doyoung:** my thumb is hovering over the block button don't test me

 **winwin!:** who is ten?  
**winwin!:** why do you hate him, doyoung-hyung?

 **jae:** he doesn't  
**jae:** they just play fight a lot

 **winwin!:** oh, okay

 **seo:** anyways, guys  
**seo:** sicheng and I have a project for film class and we were hoping you could help us

 **taeyong:** how so?

 **doyoung:** whoa, taeyong-hyung  
**doyoung:** I haven't talked to you in forever

 **seo:** do any of you want to be in the video?  
**seo:** sicheng and I will do all the filming (since we kind of have to)

 **jae:** what kind of video?

 **seo:** we were thinking music video

 **winwin!:** youngho-hyung wants to make a song  
**winwin!:** and I want to dance

 **doyoung:** if I have to dance, no deal

 **seo:** doyoung

 **doyoung:** I can't dance and I definitely don't want to try

 **seo:** please?

 **doyoung:** no

 **winwin!:** please, hyung?

 **doyoung:** ,,, I'm not even in the same room as you and I'm having a hard time saying no  
**doyoung:** if the dance is hard I'm leaving

 **seo:** well, we kind of have to create it,,,

 **doyoung:** you really want me to look like a whole fool, don't you

 **seo:** no!  
**seo:** some of us actually dance, like, professionally  
**seo:** taeyong  
**seo:** please help us

 **taeyong:** you want me to choreograph for the music video?

 **seo:** yes,,

 **taeyong:** okay

 **seo:** really?

 **taeyong:** yeah, sure  
**taeyong:** it doesn't have to be soon, does it?

 **seo:** it's our final project  
**seo:** we have all year to work on it

 **doyoung:** why did your teacher assign it already?

 **seo:** so we have time to do it

 **jae:** wait do you need help creating the song?  
**jae:** 'cause doyoung and I are in a music class this year  
**jae:** we have the resources to make it

 **seo:** I knew you'd have something

 **doyoung:** taeil-hyung can help, too  
**doyoung:** he's really good with music

 **seo:** speaking of which  
**seo:** where is he?  
**seo:** it says he's in the group

 **jae:** I think he deleted the app

 **seo:** damn

 **taeyong:** yuta deleted it, too  
**taeyong:** he probably could have helped with the choreography

 **winwin!:** I'll help you, hyung! ^-^

 **taeyong:** thank you, sicheng  <3

 **winwin!:** I can message yuta-hyung, too  
**winwin!:** I'll tell him to come to this chat and talk

 **jae:** wait the kids are in here too

 **doyoung:** kids?

 **taeyong:**  mark and donghyuck?

 **doyoung:** mark and donghyuck!  
**doyoung:** I haven't talked to them in forever, either

 **jae:** and to think they used to call you their parent

 **doyoung:** shut up

 **seo:** wait they didn't delete this app, did they?

 **jae:** I can't see them deleting it  
**jae:** they talk to their friends through this app

 **seo:** they're ignoring us

 **doyoung:** or they're off having actual lives

 **seo:** did I ask you

 **taeyong:** taeil-hyung said he'll download the app in a few minutes  
**taeyong:** he has to transfer some stuff to his laptop for storage space

 **seo:** that's extra, he can just text me if he wants

 **taeyong:** he says it's fine  
**taeyong:** he misses us anyway :')

 **doyoung:** hey taeyong  
**doyoung:** are you and taeil-hyung still dating

 **jae:** what

 **seo:** wh a t

 **taeyong:** yes

 **doyoung:** how's it

 **taeyong:** nice uwu

 **seo:** why didn't I know this

 **jae:** ^

 **moon:** hello

 **jae:** hi, hyung!

 **doyoung:** hey taeil-hyung

 **hyuck:** hey whoa why is everyone talking without me

 **winwin!:** hi!

 **hyuck:** sicheng-hyung!  <3

 **seo:** donghyuck  
**seo:** where's mark

 **hyuck:** sleeping  
**hyuck:** his phone might wake him in a minute though  
**hyuck:** mine did :/

 **seo:** read up

 **taeyong:** yuta is ignoring my messages,

 **winwin!:** yuta-hyung said he didn't want to download it  
**winwin!:** too much storage

 **doyoung:** just ask again he'll listen to you

 **taeyong:** why is he ignoring me,,

 **doyoung:** he loves sicheng

 **seo:** everyone loves sicheng

 **hyuck:** oh sure I'll be in the video  
**hyuck:** mark probably will too  
**hyuck:** can I sing some of the song?

 **doyoung:** oh yeah I didn't think about that  
**doyoung:** who's singing?

 **winwin!:** I can't sing

 **taeyong:** I'm with sicheng

 **seo:** yeah singing isn't really,, my thing

 **moon:** wait what's happening

 **taeyong:** johnny wants us to help us with his film project, babe

 **doyoung:** babe  
**doyoung:** how endearing

 **jae:** what  
**jae:** I MEAN

 **seo:** did you just

 **moon:** okay  
**moon:** what do you need me to do?

 **jae:** doyoung and I are helping with the song  
**jae:** can you help too, hyung?  
**jae:** we can do lyrics if you can do music

 **moon:** sure  
**moon:** when should we have it done?

 **seo:** the project isn't due until the end of the year  
**seo:** but we kind of need the song first, so...

 **moon:** we'll work on it

 **seo:** thank you, hyung!

 **nakamoto:** my phone is suffering this better be important

 **doyoung:** I knew sicheng could do it

 **nakamoto:** do what

 **taeyong:** yuta you ignored my messages

 **nakamoto:** sorry

 **taeyong:** read them or read up, sicheng and youngho need help with a project

 **nakamoto:** help what  
**nakamoto:** I'm only good at dancing

 **taeyong:** you can help me with choreography, then

 **nakamoto:** bet

 **seo:** is everyone okay with being in the music video?  
**seo:** we'd have to spend a lot of time filming  
**seo:** but that's not until after the song and choreography are done

 **taeyong:** I'm good with that

 **hyuck:** yeah  
**hyuck:** mark doesn't want to pick up his phone but he says yes too

 **jae:** yes

 **doyoung:** I'll be in it

 **nakamoto:** we're actually being filmed, too?

 **seo:** if you want  
**seo:** (please)

 **nakamoto:** okay

 **moon:** I don't want to be in it too much,, but I'll do it

 **winwin!:** you guys are the best!  
**winwin!:** thank you  <3

 **seo:** seriously  
**seo:** thanks so much

 **jae:** it's no problem

 **moon:** ^

 **doyoung:** this will be fun  
**doyoung:** but I hope the chat dies after this

 

 

 

 

  
**limitless**  
_noodle boy, johnny, yuta, sicheng, yoonoh, hyuck, doyoung, taeyong, moon_

_johnny renamed the chat **limitless**_

**johnny:** update, the song is called limitless

 **yuta:** that was... fast  
**yuta:** it's only been a week?

 **doyoung:** we work quickly  
**doyoung:** plus, taeyong and mark were helping us with lyrics  
**doyoung:** did you guys know mark was a rapper because I didn't

 **taeyong:** what did you think he did  
**taeyong:** we literally go to a performing arts school

 **doyoung:** I don't know I thought he was an actor or something

 **noodle boy:** I'm sad that you didn't know I was talented  
**noodle boy:** wait why is my name noodle boy

 **doyoung:** NOODLE BOY

 **hyuck:** you're welcome  <3

 **noodle boy:** never touch my phone again

_noodle boy changed his name to mark_

**mark:** anyway

 **doyoung:** wait mark don't you dance

 **mark:** if I try

 **doyoung:** I thought taeyong was your mentor a few years ago

 **mark:** yeah  
**mark:** for rap

 **doyoung:** ,,, oh

 **taeyong:** idiot

 **doyoung:** you know what,,

 **yuta:** wait so is the song done already?

 **doyoung:** after a couple finishing touches and approval from sicheng, yes

 **yuta:** I thought the project wasn't even due for months?

 **doyoung:** we want to give you guys plenty of time to choreograph  
**doyoung:** since taeyong is slow and all

 **johnny:** oh my god anyways  
**johnny:** I just wanted to update you guys  
**johnny:** it's going really well so far, so thank you

 **doyoung:** yeah no problem  
**doyoung:** where is everyone it's dead in here

 **taeyong:** isn't that what you wanted

 **johnny:** sicheng is currently asleep  
**johnny:** jaehyun's just,, sitting over there with his phone on silent

 **doyoung:** what about taeil?  
**doyoung:** isn't he with you?

 **taeyong:** taeil is with me and he's ignoring us too  
**taeyong:** he's going to get mad that I'm on my phone  
**taeyong:** I should probably go

 **yuta:** hey I can't actually focus on choreography until next month  
**yuta:** I have a show coming up and I'm not free for a while

 **taeyong:** that's fine  
**taeyong:** sicheng and I can start and you can help us when you have time

 **yuta:** bet  
**yuta:** sorry

 **taeyong:** it's alright  
**taeyong:** okay I'm going to go taeil-hyung is getting mad  
**taeyong:** let me know when the song's ready and send it over to me!

 **doyoung:** okay  
**doyoung:** I should go, too  
**doyoung:** my math professor is piling work on me :/

 **johnny:** I told you you should have just done math freshman year

 **doyoung:** yeah but I don't like taking advice from you

 **johnny:** you,, are the rudest

 **doyoung:** :*  
**doyoung:** I'll see you tomorrow  
**doyoung:** song should be done

 **johnny:** thanks! I'll let sicheng know

 

 

 

 

  
**無限的我**  
_mark lee, jae, johnny, yuta, sicheng, hyuck, doyoung, taeyong, moon_

_sicheng renamed the chat **無限的我**_

**hyuck:** uh  
**hyuck:** what does that mean, hyung?

 **sicheng:** limitless

 **hyuck:** oh  
**hyuck:** wait can you say it?

 **sicheng:** [audio attachment]

 **hyuck:** it's pretty!

 **mark lee:** last time youngho-hyung changed the chat name something was done  
**mark lee:** is the choreography done?

 **sicheng:** we want yuta to look at it but so far, yes!  
**sicheng:** we just have to practice all together so we can finish positioning

 **mark lee:** how did you work out positions in the first place?

 **taeyong:** my dance class offered to help us fill in your spots while we choreographed

 **hyuck:** is the dance hard?

 **taeyong:** I don't think so?  
**taeyong:** I am a dancer, though, so  
**taeyong:** I can't be the judge of that

 **doyoung:** he probably made it hard just to spite me

 **taeyong:** I don't think about you that much

 **doyoung:** headass

 **taeyong:** look,, who's,, talking,,

 **sicheng:** it's not hard, hyuck, don't worry

 **doyoung:** oh wait  
**doyoung:** when do you guys think you can record?  
**doyoung:** jaehyun and I sang the whole thing for the choreographers  
**doyoung:** and taeyong covered his and mark's parts

 **mark lee:** uh,, I'm free next week?  
**mark lee:** my wednesday classes are cancelled for next week  
**mark lee:** I guess all the math and science teachers are having meetings and I only have math and science on wednesday

 **hyuck:** I'm only free today and tomorrow  
**hyuck:** in the near future anyway

 **doyoung:** shit I'm not free tomorrow  
**doyoung:** let me text taeil-hyung and see if he's anywhere near the studio right now

 **jae:** I'm free tomorrow  
**jae:** I'll also be off wednesday, so  
**jae:** I can help you guys out

 **taeyong:** taeil-hyung is with me right now  
**taeyong:** and he's not free tomorrow

 **doyoung:** yeah, I knew he wasn't free tomorrow  
**doyoung:** donghyuck, are you fine recording with yoonoh tomorrow?

 **hyuck:** yeah  
**hyuck:** just need a time and a place

 **jae:** let's do morning so we have plenty of time to correct mistakes  
**jae:** uh,, 10:00?  
**jae:** I'll private you the address

 **hyuck:** perfect

 **sicheng:** thank you guys!!  
**sicheng:** johnny-hyung says thank you, too

 **doyoung:** where is he?

 **jae:** no need to thank us, sicheng  
**jae:** we're having a lot of fun with this

 **sicheng:** ^-^  
**sicheng:** he's with me  
**sicheng:** we're on a date!

 **jae:** you and johnny are dating?

 **sicheng:** no?  
**sicheng:** we're getting coffee

 **doyoung:** how sweet  
**doyoung:** we'll leave you to it  
**doyoung:** make sure everyone knows we need to start arranging to meet up, okay?

 **sicheng:** okay!  
**sicheng:** bye  <3

 **jae:** bye  
**jae:** see you tomorrow, hyuck

 **hyuck:** yes, hyung  
**hyuck:** bye !!

 

 

 

 

  
**無限的我**  
_headass, yoonoh, mark lee, johnny, yuta, sicheng, hyuck, taeyong, moon_

 **johnny:** so I'm almost sure someone has something planned already but I'm going to try--  
**johnny:** we have no school friday, is anyone busy?

 **yoonoh:** I had a date but I can cancel

 **johnny:** whoa you don't have to

 **yoonoh:** it's alright

 **moon:** I'm free  
**moon:** taeyong is, too

 **mark lee:** it depends on the time,,?  
**mark lee:** I have to meet jeno for basketball in the morning  
**mark lee:** I'll be free by noon or so

 **yuta:** I don't have anything going on

 **johnny:** wow what a miracle  
**johnny:** wait  
**johnny:** where's doyoung

 **headass:** I'm free  
**headass:** oh my god  
**headass:** taeyong when the hell did you get my phone

 **yuta:** this shit gets more and more amusing by the day

_headass changed his name to doyoung_

**doyoung:** taeil-hyung tell your man he's dead to me

 **moon:** he doesn't care

 **doyoung:** I,, am sad every day because of you people

 **sicheng:** hyung, it's okay, we love you  <3

 **moon:** don't be nice to him sicheng he's dramatic

 **doyoung:** sicheng is a real one :'(

 **sicheng:** <3

 **yoonoh:** how pure

 **johnny:** hey mark  
**johnny:** do you know if donghyuck is free?

 **mark lee:** yeah, he is  
**mark lee:** he's cramming some homework in today so he doesn't have to do it over the weekend  
**mark lee:** he might have to come at noon with me, though  
**mark lee:** if he doesn't finish all of it

 **johnny:** that's fine  
**johnny:** noon is good for everyone?

 **moon:** yeah

 **doyoung:** yes

 **jaehyun:** yes

 **yuta:** bet

 **johnny:** nice  
**johnny:** thanks again, guys

 **jaehyun:** no problem

 **doyoung:** ^

 **moon:** don't mention it

 **johnny:** we've been really preoccupied with the project but we should all catch up soon  
**johnny:** we'll have to plan a day out

 **mark lee:** we should go after finals, since we have a couple weeks off

 **yuta:** bet !!  
**yuta:** I'm going to japan for the first couple weeks but after that I'm free

 **doyoung:** we could find time to study together before finals, too  
**doyoung:** we have that study week before finals off too, remember?

 **johnny:** ^ !!  
**johnny:** if any of you are good at chemistry,, I need you

 **taeyong:** if there's one thing you can trust doyoung with, it's science

 **doyoung:** and secrets  
**doyoung:** taeyong

 **taeyong:** bye

 

 

 

 

  
**無限的我**  
_doyoung, yoonoh, mark lee, johnny, yuta, sicheng, hyuck, taeyong, moon_

 **doyoung:** my legs HURT

 **yoonoh:** ^

 **johnny:** ^^

 **sicheng:** you should stretch  
**sicheng:** you'll feel better!

 **taeyong:** you guys did really good  
**taeyong:** I was surprised

 **yuta:** remember the first practice

 **johnny:** don't

 **hyuck:** I've never seen doyoung and johnny fall so much in my life

 **mark lee:** I still feel bad for hitting you in the face, youngho-hyung

 **sicheng:** a lot of people asked why johnny-hyung had a bruise  
**sicheng:** it was funny

 **doyoung:** HAHAHA

 **johnny:** oh my god shut,,

 **taeyong:** we're pretty much polished though, honestly  
**taeyong:** I think we're good to start filming whenever

 **johnny:** do you guys want to knock it out in the last week or so before we go back to class after finals?  
**johnny:** I know yuta is going to be gone for the first two weeks, but after that,,, anyone busy?

 **yuta:** change of plans, I'm actually only going to be gone for a week  
**yuta:** my parents have a business trip after the first week so I decided to come back after that

 **sicheng:** I'm going to china in the second week  
**sicheng:** but we could do some filming the whole break?  
**sicheng:** not all scenes will have all of us

 **johnny:** that's true  
**johnny:** we just need enough time that all of us are together for the dance

 **taeyong:** we could make the last week the choreography week?

 **mark lee:** I don't have anything over break, so

 **hyuck:** neither do I

 **yoonoh:** I'm definitely free the last two weeks  
**yoonoh:** I'm still working out my schedule for the first week, though  
**yoonoh:** I'm supposed to go on a trip

 **doyoung:** I'm not free the first week, either

 **johnny:** but everyone's free the third one?

 **moon:** I have a project to work on that last week but it's not going to eat up ALL of my time  
**moon:** I should have enough time to film

 **johnny:** okay, perfect!  
**johnny:** so whoever's here can film for the first couple weeks,  
**johnny:** and we'll save the choreography for the last week

 **taeyong:** sounds good

 **yuta:** bet

 **moon:** okay

 **doyoung:** I'm pretty excited, to be honest  
**doyoung:** I've always wanted to be in a music video

 **hyuck:** me too  
**hyuck:** we should post it  
**hyuck:** maybe it will go viral :P

 **mark lee:** that would be so cool

 **johnny:** depending on how filming goes, I might actually post it  
**johnny:** someone is definitely going to have to post the song / choreo  
**johnny:** they're so good

 **moon:** we'll figure out posting  
**moon:** I'm sure the shooting is going to go great

 **yuta:** true  
**yuta:** I've seen sicheng's pictures before  
**yuta:** they're damn pretty

 **mark lee:** so are johnny-hyung's  
**mark lee:** he took a picture of donghyuck and I sleeping on the couch and it was so nice  
**mark lee:** I hung it on my wall

 **hyuck:** it's my lock screen

 **johnny:** thanks, guys  <3

 **sicheng:** we'll do well, johnny-hyung!  <3

 **johnny:** I know  
**johnny:** I just get a little nervous before a big project  
**johnny:** thanks a lot again, guys  
**johnny:** it means a lot that you're helping  <3

 **yuta:** no problem

 **jaehyun:** don't mention it

 

 

 

 

 **study!**  
_doyoung, yoonoh, mark lee, johnny, yuta, sicheng, hyuck, taeyong, moon_

_taeyong renamed the chat **study**_

**taeyong:** good luck on finals everyone!  
**taeyong:** make sure you eat breakfast  
**taeyong:** and sleep well  
**taeyong:** and study hard!

 **doyoung:** okay mom

 **mark lee:** thank you, hyung!  
**mark lee:** I can't wait to ace my finals  
**mark lee:** and work on the project

 **johnny:** that optimism just saved my life  
**johnny:** I spilled four cups of coffee today

 **sicheng:** one of them was all over my white shorts  >:(

 **johnny:** babe I'm sorry

 **doyoung:** babe?

 **yoonoh:** what  
**yoonoh:** oh my god

 **yuta:** none of you are subtle  
**yuta:** if I've been reading these texts right I think I'm the only one not dating within this little group

 **johnny:** uh,, I gotta study for chemistry bye

 **yuta:** I'm keeping these receipts!

 

 

 

 

  
**무한적아**  
_doyoung, yoonoh, mark lee, johnny, yuta, sicheng, hyuck, taeyong, moon_

_johnny renamed the chat **무한적아**_

**johnny:** can you believe,  
**johnny:** we did all that  
**johnny:** in four months

 **mark lee:** I can't  
**mark lee:** I just saw the whole thing and almost cried  
**mark lee:** that was so much fun

 **doyoung:** the video is so good guys  
**doyoung:** I don't know how you and sicheng do it

 **johnny:** he had most of the visions  
**johnny:** seriously though, donghyuck should join film

 **hyuck:** me?

 **johnny:** yes !!  
**johnny:** your ideas were the best

 **hyuck:** no they weren't  
**hyuck:** they were just dumb things that popped into my head

 **johnny:** trust

 **taeyong:** what were your favorite scenes?  
**taeyong:** I really liked the one where we were all covering our eyes, for some reason

 **yuta:** I liked the punching bag

 **mark lee:** when donghyuck looked out of the window  
**mark lee:** it was cute

 **doyoung:** taeil-hyung's sleeve!  
**doyoung:** when I peeking out of it

 **johnny:** literally all of those scenes were donghyuck's idea  
**johnny:** join film class

 **donghyuck:** oh my god  
**donghyuck:** mark imitating the gorilla was so funny

 **yoonoh:** it was really funny when yuta-hyung was dancing and taeyong-hyung was just sitting there

 **yuta:** that's what it felt like to choreograph  
**yuta:** he was judging me so hard

 **taeyong:** the light in donghyuck's face!  
**taeyong:** he looked different in each frame  
**taeyong:** THAT was cool

 **johnny:** !! I love that part  
**johnny:** sicheng is so good with lighting i could never

 **sicheng:** thank you, hyung  <3

 **yuta:** who had the idea to include those clips where like half of us were unaware of the camera  
**yuta:** those were cool  
**yuta:** added to the video honestly

 **sicheng:** that was johnny-hyung  
**sicheng:** he wanted to show us naturally too  
**sicheng:** isn't he a genuis?

 **johnny:** you're so cute  
**johnny:** thank you guys so much !  
**johnny:** I can't wait to ace this and take you all out to dinner or something  
**johnny:** I don't know you guys all worked so hard,,

 **taeyong:** you don't have to do anything for us  
**taeyong:** we had fun

 **hyuck:** speak for yourself I am DOWN for some ice cream or something

 **mark lee:** oh my god

 **hyuck:** don't tell me you don't want johnny to buy you some frozen yogurt

 **mark lee:** I mean,,  
**mark lee:** no but really we should all catch up soon

 **doyoung:** we could just keep the chat alive  
**doyoung:** it's been pretty lit in here since the project

 **taeyong:** I thought you wanted us dead

 **doyoung:** I wanted the chat dead  
**doyoung:** because I hate all of you  
**doyoung:** but I,, have fun talking to you

 **yoonoh:** wow babe I never thought I'd witness you be nice to taeyong

 **yuta:** okay someone has to give me a run down of the Actual Couples in this group  
**yuta:** I've seen the word babe pass my screen so much

 **doyoung:** it's a secret ;)

 **taeyong:** I think doyoung is the only one who actually knows who is dating who  
**taeyong:** like  
**taeyong:** I know for a fact none of us are single but no one is spilling any tea except for taeil and I

 **doyoung:** I'm good at keeping secrets :*  
**doyoung:** my dumbass boyfriend is not  
**doyoung:** ,,yoonoh

 **yoonoh:** wow okay

 **johnny:** wait no one is single?

 **doyoung:** you guys are dumb if you don't know who's with who to be honest  
**doyoung:** read the previous messages you'll figure it out

 **hyuck:** wait okay but who's actually with sicheng  
**hyuck:** it seems like everyone likes him

 **doyoung:** he's the only nice one here

 **hyuck:** mark is nice

 **mark lee:** thanks  <3

 **doyoung:** (HINT HINT)

 **taeyong:** I thought you were good at keeping secrets

 **doyoung:** I am when I want to be

 **taeyong:** that's not how secrets work  
**taeyong:** why is it a secret anyway  
**taeyong:** if we're going to catch up this is the kind of tea we should be spilling

 **johnny:** well  
**johnny:** check the floor for green tea 'cause it's sicheng's favorite

 **moon:** what

 **doyoung:** johnny that was,, dumb  
**doyoung:** I'm leaving I don't want to see this tea spilled you guys are too lame

 **taeyong:** okay I pretty much have everyone worked out but yuta,, are you single?

 **yuta:** no

 **taeyong:** who are you with?

 **yuta:** only doyoung knows ;)

 **taeyong:** ,, why

 **yuta:** same reason he was the only one who knew you and taeil were together

 **moon:** you guys really gotta stop telling doyoung everything  
**moon:** he's a good friend but he's got too much on you

 **taeyong:** ultimately he was the one that gave me courage to ask you out

 **moon:** you took advice from doyoung?

 **taeyong:** ,, he actually has really good advice

 **yuta:** he does

 **sicheng:** he has good ideas for scenes too  
**sicheng:** doyoung-hyung has a pretty mind

 **doyoung:** aw, thanks guys  <3

 **taeyong:** go away I can't be nice to you if you're here

 **moon:** doyoung stop ruining it you're annoying

 **doyoung:** I,, hope this chat dies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me so long! Limitless was the only song that I really struggled to find a concept I actually liked to go with it, so the next stories shouldn't take as long to finish / post!


	12. Good Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _all night long_  
>  Being best friends with your lover(s) is a good thing.  
> [au]: friends to lovers  
> ♡ jaehyun, doyoung, and taeil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a little bit obsessed with the without u unit

Jung Yoonoh was the exact description of a messy college kid. Some kids, going into college, knew what they were doing-- because they weren't exactly _kids_  anymore, and they weren't really teenagers, either; they were young adults and they knew how to take responsibility and support themselves. Yoonoh-- not exactly. He was the trip-and-drop-all-of-his-papers kind of kid, the spill-coffee-on-his-crush kind of kid, the finishes-assignments-last- _second_  kind of kid, because he was still kind of a kid at heart, still very much a teenager at mind.

Moon Taeil was his best friend.

Well-- best friend _in a sense_. Kim Dongyoung was Yoonoh's best friend, but Taeil was Yoonoh's _best friend_ , meaning he had a major crush on Taeil but, because Taeil didn't share the same feelings, Yoonoh referred to him as a best friend. So, Taeil was Yoonoh's best friend. Yoonoh crawled into Taeil's bed whining when he needed to study but didn't want to do it himself. He stuck half his body into Taeil's fridge when he was hungry and he only had a few poor bills in his pocket. He locked himself in Taeil's bathroom and talked to him through the door when he was having a rough day, a rough week, a rough month. Taeil was his lifeline.

Dongyoung made him feel alive.

Yoonoh was a little adventurous, a little dangerous; Dongyoung was, too. Yoonoh could drag Dongyoung to a fence that said _No Trespassing_  and Dongyoung would be the first to climb over it. They would go cliff-diving; they would crash cars; they would rebel and they were _stupid_ , but they were safe enough and Taeil supposed they could be dumber. Crashing into a pile of boxes they set up in the middle of the road was better than crashing into walls for fun. Diving a couple dozen feet was better than diving a hundred. Yoonoh and Dongyoung were the safe kind of adventurous-- as safe as they came, anyway.

"I can't even feel anything!" Taeil heard Yoonoh whine, and Taeil looked in his direction. He already knew what Yoonoh was doing; he was jumping over the train tracks they'd found at the end of a path Yoonoh wanted to walk. He and Dongyoung were side-by-side, of course, and they were busy touching the rails as the train came barreling down the tracks-- closer and closer and closer. Dongyoung laughed, "I know, I know! I'm disappointed-- I thought you could feel it coming!"

"Guys, hurry back!" Taeil called, eyeing the train that was still far _enough_  away, but too close for (note: Taeil's) comfort. Yoonoh looked over his shoulder and smiled-- and, if it was anyone else, he would have said _wait until it comes closer-- I'll run back! Time me!_  but it was Taeil, so he grabbed Dongyoung by the back of his shirt and tugged, began to walk off of the tracks. Dongyoung made a confused sound, turned, and he laughed, but he followed Yoonoh, and they dove off the tracks a good minute before the train actually came dangerously close.

"Buzz kill," Dongyoung teased, but he knew, just like Yoonoh knew, that Taeil was only watching out for them. Taeil slapped him on the back of the head despite knowing that Dongyoung was just joking; he was joking, too. Dongyoung pouted, but that was the end of their arguing. Yoonoh wrapped his arm around Dongyoung's shoulders, took Taeil's hand, and they were off to find something else to do. For now, they were following the path to who-knows-where. Their classes were off for the next week; they had plenty of time to hang around and do stupid things-- like get lost in the woods somewhere and run across train tracks for no reason. Half the time, they had no idea what to do-- walking along paths to who-knows-where and trying to find their way home without any reception. Getting lost didn't matter to any of them; the only thing they cared about was being together.

Though, when hunger came in, they started to care a little bit more about finding civilization again.

"I'm starving," Dongyoung whined softly, clinging to Taeil's back. Usually, Taeil would get annoyed at him, but he had no energy for that. He simply tucked his arms over Dongyoung's wrist and let Dongyoung put a little too much weight on his spine. Yoonoh looked at Dongyoung and laughed-- the most optimistic of the three reached back to play with Dongyoung's orange bangs and tell him "We'll be back soon. Trust me-- I know the way--" and he didn't know the way, and they all knew that, but they both trusted him anyway.

They found a busy road half an hour later, and Dongyoung dropped to his knees and wailed "Yes! Yes!" and Yoonoh and Taeil both laughed at his dramatic behavior. Taeil was the one to drag him up by the bicep and tell him "Let's go get something to eat, idiot," while Yoonoh politely stopped someone and asked them to point them in the direction of a food place they would recommend. The woman said there was one down the street. Yoonoh thanked her, and they all rushed there. They clambered into the restaurant looking a little dirty and too wild. The woman that would sit them at a table looked shocked, to say the least, but she didn't hesitate to lead the three rowdy men to a table, sit them down and ask them if they wanted drinks. Tea, lemonade, water-- Dongyoung, Yoonoh, Taeil. Something with egg for Yoonoh, something with rice for Taeil, just _something_  for poor, starving Dongyoung.

The three of them often lived this way-- going out and then letting Taeil pay for everything because "I'm the oldest-- a good hyung treats his little brothers--" and they would pay him back in random ways, like buying his favorite coffee before class or buying him a big breakfast before finals. None of them cared about money-- paying back or spending on each other, but a lot of their trips out boiled down to _Taeil-hyung paid, so we have to pay him back_.

It was as simple as that, until it wasn't.

Yoonoh wanted to blame it all on Dongyoung-- how dare he suddenly step over that thin line between _you're my best friend_  and _I really want to date you_? That was supposed to be Taeil-hyung's spot, and even then, Yoonoh kind of wished he wasn't there. Now Dongyoung was in the same spot, and he'd shoved Taeil ahead, and then decided to go ahead and step up right next to Taeil-hyung, and before Yoonoh knew it, both of his best friends were suddenly right on the edge of _I love you more than anything_.

That was unfair.

Yoonoh knew he had no one to blame but himself, and even then, was he really to _blame?_  He fell in love-- why did there need to be blame? Love could be simple; it didn't have to be a crime. But it _wasn't_  simple, not for Yoonoh. He'd never even been in love before, and suddenly he was in love with two people at the same time, and for a while, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't make himself believe that he actually loved them-- but what else was it? It wasn't just a crush, because, yes, he still wanted to kiss Taeil, and Dongyoung too, but now he wanted to hold their hands and take them home and protect them from everything and go on intimate dates and buy them roses and wake up to them in the mornings and that wasn't normal friendship stuff. Yoonoh's desires ran deep-- deep into a gutter lined with rose petals and Yoonoh didn't know what to do.

Yoonoh spun some dice, since he didn't know which cards in his hand to play. His dice came up _3_  and _5_ , which somehow added up to _kiss Taeil-hyung while you're drunk_. Yoonoh hated that he wasn't conscious of these stupid dice until his tongue was half in Taeil-hyung's mouth. He hated that he and Taeil were both a little too drunk, and he hated it more that they were both at Dongyoung's house, hiding in the dark corner of his hallway while he took a shower in his room. They were there to celebrate Dongyoung's new job offer, and they all got drunk, and now Dongyoung's celebration was forgotten because Yoonoh was _intoxicated_ \-- on Taeil more than soju.

Taeil and Yoonoh broke apart when they heard the shower switch off. They looked at each other for a minute, and then they quietly snuck back into Dongyoung's room and sat on his bed and pretended nothing happened. Taeil wiped his lips and Yoonoh wished it didn't hurt-- wished it didn't look like Taeil was trying to wipe him away. Yoonoh knew he was probably just freeing his wet lips of any spit leftover, perhaps because he felt it or perhaps because he _couldn't_ , and he didn't want Dongyoung, or Yoonoh, to notice, but it still hurt somehow, and Yoonoh did the same, and he wiped his cheek, too, because he felt like crying but he knew it wasn't going to come but he wanted to make sure anyway, because he couldn't feel it and he didn't want anyone else to notice.

"I love you guys so much." Dongyoung said when he returned from the bathroom-- fully dressed and still a little damp. He collapsed on his bed stomach-down and looked at Taeil and Yoonoh and just smiled. Yoonoh wanted to say _"I love you so much, too,"_  the way Taeil-hyung did, but he couldn't bring himself to do so, because saying it made it _real_  and he couldn't let it be that real-- not when he'd kissed Taeil, not when he knew Taeil had crossed that thin line between _I really want to date you_  and _I love you more than anything_. The line shouldn't have been so thin, but there was a tiny gap between the _you're my best friend_  to _I really want to date you_  and _I really want to date you_  to _I love you more than anything_  lines. Yoonoh was sure that was only due to the fact that he loved Dongyoung and Taeil. With anyone else, the gap would have been bigger-- but it was _Dongyoung and Taeil_ \-- of course they wouldn't have a hard time getting Yoonoh to fall in love with them.

It was Dongyoung's turn next, and he passed the line the same way Taeil had: by kissing Yoonoh.

Yoonoh was kind of disappointed in himself, because it happened the day after he'd kissed Taeil. It wasn't even a day!-- it was more like twelve hours, because Yoonoh and Taeil had kissed at four-something in the morning as Dongyoung was showering and Yoonoh and Dongyoung kissed at four-something in the afternoon after Taeil had left-- work calls. Yoonoh wasn't even sure how it happened. They were standing by the door right after Taeil-hyung had left, and they were talking, and all of a sudden Yoonoh's back was against the wall and Dongyoung was kissing the life out of him; and it was _so sweet_ , just a little sweeter than Taeil-hyung, but Yoonoh kind of expected that from Dongyoung, because there was always something particularly sweet about Dongyoung.

"Can I admit something to you?" Dongyoung asked when the kiss was (just barely) over. Yoonoh had only been given a second of silent bliss. He had yet to even open his eyes, but he gulped, and he nodded. Dongyoung was silent for a moment, and Yoonoh opened his eyes to see if Dongyoung's were open, too-- if perhaps he hadn't seen Yoonoh's answer. He was met with a nervous gaze and Dongyoung's whisper of, "I kissed Taeil-hyung yesterday."

"You kissed Taeil-hyung yesterday." Yoonoh repeated, and Dongyoung nodded, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth-- guilt making a physical appearance. Yoonoh nodded back, "I kissed Taeil-hyung yesterday, too."

"You kissed Taeil-hyung yesterday, too." Dongyoung repeated, and Yoonoh nodded again. He didn't feel that guilty about it-- not really-- not to anyone he could express it to right then. So he didn't frown, he didn't bite his lip, he didn't blink his eyes; he just stared at Dongyoung with his simple answer and waited for them both to finish thinking about this.

"What does that mean?" Dongyoung whispered-- more breath than words. It was then that Yoonoh noticed how damn close they still were, and how bad he wanted to kiss Dongyoung again, because Dongyoung's lips tasted as sweet as his breath smelled. But Yoonoh couldn't do that-- not now, not when they had to think. So he took a step back, and he shrugged in reply. Dongyoung just nodded-- _okay_. Dongyoung came up with an actual answer a second later, "I think that means we both love Taeil-hyung.

"Do we love each other, too?" Dongyoung asked quietly. Yoonoh shrugged-- again, but he had an answer on the tip of his tongue-- again, "That's something we'll both have to answer."

"I love you." Dongyoung said right away, and Yoonoh nodded, "Me, too."

Again, a bite of the lip and finally some blinking of the eyes; Dongyoung had no idea what to think, and Yoonoh had no idea what to say. Usually, their thoughts and their words balanced out; but they were so lost, they couldn't form a proper thought, a proper sentence.

"So," Dongyoung started, and, for once, Yoonoh couldn't finish. He could only nod his head, avoid Dongyoung's eyes, "So."

Yoonoh took a moment to think about Dongyoung kissing Taeil, and he wondered when the two had had the time. Were they kissing the whole time Yoonoh was downstairs getting alcohol? Perhaps when he was in the bathroom relieving his bladder? Did Taeil-hyung kiss him first, or Dongyoung first? Did it matter? Was it just because they were drunk? Not now, surely, when he and Dongyoung were completely sober, but what did it mean to Taeil?

"We should invite Taeil-hyung over later... ask him about...." Yoonoh gulped. Dongyoung nodded along, and he finished for him, "We should ask Taeil-hyung if he loves us, too," and just like that, they were back in sync, and everything seemed okay again.

The hours leading up to the conversation were nerve-wracking. Yoonoh couldn't stay with Dongyoung all day; he had to go home and work on some papers, and Dongyoung had to prepare for his new job (going in to buy the uniform, to confirm work hours, things like that). Dongyoung called Yoonoh at 7:00 and told him that Taeil-hyung would be over later that night, in about four hours-- I know that's late, but do you want to come, too? Yoonoh had work the next morning-- around 8:00, but he could spare some hours to sit and talk to Dongyoung and Taeil. He could always spare some hours for Dongyoung and Taeil.

"You sounded worried over the phone," Taeil said, showing up a few minutes after Yoonoh had. He pulled Dongyoung into his chest, comforting him before he even knew if Dongyoung needed to be comforted, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really, hyung-- Yoonoh and I just needed to talk to you." Dongyoung said. Taeil let him go, and he looked over Dongyoung's shoulder to greet Yoonoh-- a simple smile, and a wave, and then a wonder of "Am I in trouble or something?" with a laugh to accompany the words. It made Dongyoung and Yoonoh feel light, too; it pulled a smile from them both, and a small giggle from Dongyoung through his words-- his "No, hyung, we were just curious about something," and the tension stayed away for a few moments-- up until the three of them were sitting down and no one knew what to say.

Yoonoh found a painless way to start the conversation, "Dongyoung and I kissed yesterday."

Taeil looked between them both. His eyes suggested he might remember something about a kiss-- perhaps two kisses, at least one of which he initiated (Yoonoh still didn't know about the kiss between Dongyoung and Taeil), but the rest of his expression was just confusion, and the words he spoke did not reflect anything of his own kisses, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Good thing." Dongyoung said quickly. He looked back at Yoonoh. His fingers tapped against his leg, and he looked down at Yoonoh's hand for a second. As he was speaking, Yoonoh reached forward to slip his fingers between Dongyoung's, "Yoonoh and I came to the-- uh-- realization, yesterday, that we... love each other."

Taeil nodded along, a smile coming to his mouth when _love_  fell from Dongyoung's. He wondered, "Are you two together now?" and Dongyoung looked back at Yoonoh again-- just a moment, to think about saying, "No-- not yet. We were... waiting for you, hyung."

"For me? Why are you waiting for me?" Taeil asked. Dongyoung looked at Yoonoh again, and Yoonoh decided it was his turn to say the difficult things, "Do you remember kissing us last night, hyung?"

Taeil blinked a few times, his eyes looking a different way with every single flick of his eyelids; and then he nodded, "Yeah. I remember...."

He didn't say the rest. Dongyoung didn't have to look to Yoonoh for Yoonoh to say something this time, "We won't be upset if you don't love us, but we just want to make sense of-- all the kisses that happened in the past twenty-four hours. So, hyung-- did they mean something to you? Either one?"

A smile found its way to Taeil's lips-- the kind of smile that wasn't happy, but emulated the emotion. Taeil's shoulders hunched in a nervous way-- a slight difference that was only noticeable by his hands, which had dug a bit further into the cushions-- and then pulled back to tap their fingers against each other. Taeil started to speak, "I'll be honest-- I _really_  want to lie to you two--" and then stopped to bite his lip for a moment. He looked up-- made eye contact with both of them, and continued to flicker between gazes as he spoke the rest of his statement, "--but, um, I won't-- and-- yes. They did mean something-- a lot, actually, because... I love you two, as well."

"Well... since we all love each other--" and Dongyoung looked back at Yoonoh, but not for help in speaking, this time. It was for confirmation-- and Yoonoh nodded, and Dongyoung continued, looking between the two, "I guess none of us would be objected to going out?"

"All three of us?" Taeil asked. Dongyoung nodded; Yoonoh, too. Taeil laughed a little bit, "No, no, that's... impractical, isn't it? You-- you two love each other, you two should--"

"Taeil-hyung, don't do this to us." Dongyoung said, moving forward to grasp Taeil's hand, to pull his attention to his words, "You love us, and we love you-- and it's not common for three people to be in a relationship but it _is_  okay."

"....Are you sure? Are you-- _both_ \-- sure?" and Taeil looked back to Yoonoh, who's opinion had been rather silent all along. Yoonoh nodded, smile coming to the corner of his mouth. Taeil looked at Dongyoung, and then Yoonoh, and then his own hands, and-- "If you guys are sure about this, then... I-- I'd love to love you both."

Because they were close, and because they were already facing each other, Dongyoung kissed Taeil-- quick and simple and on the lips. Dongyoung fell back from him and into Yoonoh's chest, and he laughed happily and said-- "That was easy--" and Yoonoh laughed, too, and then Taeil and all three of them were happy-- happy and carefree and Dongyoung was saying, "I have a new job _and_  two boyfriends--" and the joy only blossomed from there.


	13. Back to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _01:27AM_  
>  Taeil still called sometimes.  
> [au]: is this love?  
> \- trigger warning: suicide  
> ♡ yuta and taeil

**A.M., 01:27**  
\-- PROLOGUE  
_A phone is picked up. Ring... Ring... Ring... Ring, it says, and it gets no reply. The phone falls four feet and slams against a wall, dangling from its bed by a long, black cord. It feels a rush of air as its home is exited, glass door slid shut. The phone feels guilty._ I'm sorry I can't reach the person you're trying to call _. Its apology is not accepted. Its apology isn't even heard. It hangs there with a sad aura; but it's left to hang and hang and hang until the next person comes by to try to make a call_.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _Hi there, hyung. I've been thinking about you_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 1  
Following the rhythm of Nakamoto Yuta's body was so easy. Yuta's body was a piano, and he played a simple beat for Taeil-- for Taeil and Taeil only, and Taeil nodded his head to the same beat, with little moans escaping as his hums, with the rock of his hips against Yuta's disguised as his dance. Yuta was humming back at him; he was dancing with him. And he whispered, into the beat, "I love you so much, hyung;" but it was lost in the music and Taeil's humming along, as the older was addicted to the beat that Yuta played.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _You drive me out of my mind, you know-- the thoughts, the feelings. A recent one of mine has been a question -- do you love me, too?_

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 2

 **to:** Yuta  
_i miss you_

 **to:** My Moon  
_usually a booty call is a call_  
_you could have enough decency to at least call_

 **to:** Yuta  
_it's pretty early_  
_don't you have a roommate?_

 **to:** My Moon  
_yeah. a roommate with a separate room_  
_calling isn't about to wake him_

 **Incoming Call**  
_My Moon_

 **A.M., 01:28** \-- _You still call me a lot. Sometimes I'm tempted to pick up... just once I want to hear you tell me you love me_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 3  
Yuta tapped his pencil against his notebook, trying hard to focus. He didn't know what to tell his pen-pal today. He didn't know what to write in response to _Tell me something about yourself? I feel like I don't actually know you that much_. His pen-pal had been quite open with him; Dong Sicheng let him know the downsides of his current relationship. The communication was off, because Sicheng still wasn't great at Korean--his second language. But they loved each other.  
_They loved each other_.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I really wish you'd tell me you love me, hyung_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 4  
"I have a book signing soon." Taeil scraped his nails over Yuta's arm softly-- a gently scratch that left gentle white lines over Yuta's arm. Yuta watched the lines form, and he glanced up at Taeil as he waited for more information. Taeil didn't often say anything without being prompted, so Yuta had to ask, "Is it here in Korea?"  
"Yes. I want you to come." Taeil said, and Yuta smiled a little bit, "You mean--you want me to be your eye candy, right? Want me there to support your book? I read it. Wasn't that enough?"  
"A lot of things you do aren't enough." Taeil muttered, and Yuta scoffed, "'Course not. Get out of my bed, hyung."  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I regret fighting you so much. I feel like you were only mean because I was mean. I feel like I could have done something to save us_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 4, PART 2

 **to:** Moon-Hyung  
_when is your book signing?_

 **to:** Yuta  
_next month., early morning._  
_do you want a flyer?_

 **to:** Moon-Hyung  
_bring me one tomorrow_

 **to:** Yuta  
_okay_

 **A.M., 01:28** \-- _Love-hate was a fun game to play, but only when we were teenagers. I've heard about depression spreading into adult years, but something childish like love-hate? I think we should have left that behind_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 5  
Taeil looked around, drumming his fingers against the table. It was dark, but he could spot Yuta anywhere. Apparently except for here; because he must not have been there. Taeil swallowed, and he smiled at the next woman that came to him-- ranting about "I admire your work so much! I've been reading your books for years. Your concept of time is absolutely beautiful-- a bit difficult to follow, but truly amazing. The fact that you write your chapters by the months-- each chapter is a new month, right? And you write your sentences by the minute-- how do you do it? How do you keep track of time so well?"  
_I don't_ , Taeil thought, glancing down at his watch for good measure, but he smiled at the woman as he signed his book for her, "I keep a few notes as I go along."  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I regret a lot of things, hyung. I wish you didn't have to be one of those things_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 6  
Taeil blinked his eyes open, and he felt the confusion swimming around in his head. He was shivering, and he was shirtless, and he was on Yuta's couch; and he wasn't sure if he was sleep-walking again or if he and Yuta had a fight. He dragged himself up and went to Yuta's room, rubbing his eyes as he tried and tried to remember. Yuta's door was open, and he sank into Taeil's chest when Taeil climbed into his bed. If they fought, Taeil was already forgiven.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I wish I hadn't loved you so much_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 7  
Taeil was woken by a phone call, bright screen shining directly into his eyes, Yuta's face beneath the numbers **01:27**. Taeil pushed his phone under his pillow and ignored the way it rung. It was too early. It was too late. It was July, and Taeil just wanted a month away.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I wish you would have loved me at least a little bit_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 8  
Ring... Ring... Ring.... The unsteady beat of Taeil's fingers against his keyboard contrasted the steady ring of his phone. Taeil's fingers had a purpose but no ideas; Taeil's phone had no purpose and way too much to say. Taeil reached over to click the red **End Call**  button beneath Yuta's face. Half of him wanted to block Yuta's number; most of him didn't want to hear from Yuta anymore. _Just leave me alone. Please. I want this to end; leave me alone_.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I know what you must be thinking: Why would I do something like this as a result of one person, one writer with no inspiration that never picked up his calls?_

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 9

 **to:**  Yuta  
_I'm working on a story. stop calling me_

 **to:** Moon Taeil  
_I'm working on my third bottle of soju. come join me_

 **to:**  Yuta  
_that's not a good idea_

 **to:** Moon Taeil  
_you're not a good idea. I'm thinking about you anyways_

 **to:**  Yuta  
_please stop this_

 **to:** Moon Taeil  
_you started it_.

 **to:**  Yuta  
_started what?_

 **to:** Moon Taeil  
_of course_....

 **A.M., 01:28** \-- _I know you won't understand_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 10  
"Do you often find inspiration because of me?" Yuta asked, pressing his lips to Taeil's neck. Taeil was shirtless, barely twenty minutes past having sex with the younger male behind him. Yuta was fresh out of the shower and leaning over Taeil's shoulder to peek at the words. They were very clearly a re-telling of what had happened the past two hours--of Yuta's body against Taeil's, of their choreography beneath the sheets. Taeil nodded, "Always."  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I was your muse. You were my artist_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 11  
**to:** Taeil  
_I hate you, you know._  
_I always think something will be different._  
_I always think: this next time, he'll start to love me, too._  
_I think you'll pick up when I call._  
_I think you'll fit yourself into my life as easy as you fit between my legs._  
_Nothing changes._  
_Will it ever, with you?_  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- _I miss that so much_.

 

 **A.M., 01:27**  
\-- CHAPTER 12  
Yuta closed his eyes when he fell; he dreamt of Taeil when he fell.  
**A.M., 01:28** \-- [static].

 

 **A.M., 01:28**  
\-- EPILOGUE  
"Where did you find inspiration for '01:27 A.M.'?" Taeil read the question from his phone, and a bitter smile came to his face. He should have known the question would pop up; he was finally doing a Q &A for his most recent release, his busy schedule pushing him to record it at some odd hour of the morning. It was a common question for writers of all kinds-- of books, of poetry, of essays, of news articles. _Where did you lay your inspiration? Where did your inspiration hatch?_  Taeil looked up at the camera, and he smiled, "Well... once upon a time, I knew a man that died due to depression. He threw himself off of a bridge, and he landed at 1:27 in the morning-- some time in December, when everyone is lonely. He died, then-- at the same time we used to get along. We used to try... guess there's not much left to try, now."


	14. Heartbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _rollercoaster._  
>  Youngho had experienced countless types of heartbreak. The kind Dongyoung gave him hurt the least.  
> [au]: photography  
> \- trigger warning: mentions of abuse  
> ♡ doyoung and johnny

White wine and black cherries-- a perfect contrast for a photograph. With a brown man in the middle, it was perfect. _History of photography? Youngho, why would you even take such a class?_  Because _this_  was absolutely beautiful.

 _\- Someone your age shouldn't be interested in the history of photography._  
_\- Why?_  
_\- You're too young._  
_\- I'll be in college next year._  
_-_ If _I let you go, young man._  
_\- You're not related to me. You can't stop me._  
_\- And who's going to send_ you _to college?_  
_\- I will._  
_\- Good luck with that._  
_\- Thank you._

"Seo Youngho." Youngho was taken from his daydream at the sound of his name being called--strict. He almost flinched, but remembered he was in school, not at home. ("Home.")

"Would you like to tell the class what I just said?"

"No thank you, ma'am." Youngho said politely. He even sat up straighter, and folded his hands across the table. His teacher-- Ms. Choi absolutely despised him-- raised an eyebrow. Her hands lay impatiently at her hips, "And why not?"

"Well, ma'am, I'm not sure if you _care_ , but I was thinking about being abused again. It takes over my mind sometimes-- trauma tends to do so. I learned that in psychology."

"Well, if you paid any attention in _here_ , you may have something _else_  to think about." Ms. Choi said-- and, like that, she moved on with her lesson.

Youngho genuinely _did_  like the history of photography, but thinking about being hit for liking something so "trivial" took his focus away from it, sometimes.

"Hey." Kim Dongyoung leaned over, tapping on Youngho's desk for his attention. Youngho looked at him, and a smile took over his calm expression. Youngho liked Dongyoung-- a lot. Dongyoung knew that. It didn't bother him in the least, "Don't listen to her. She's mean to you for no reason."

"It's because our personalities are different. I understand it." Youngho put his and over Dongyoung's, but only to pat it a few times with gratitude, "Thank you, Dongyoung."

Dongyoung nodded. He was silent for some time-- until the end of class, in fact. Dongyoung went to say something to Youngho, but Ms. Choi's act of storming over to Youngho and demanding that he "stay after class for a moment, _please_ " stopped him. When she was gone again, Youngho looked at Dongyoung, silently urging him to say what he'd wished to say. Dongyoung stuttered over some noises for a moment, and finally said "I'll wait outside for you," and he ended up being the last person to leave before Youngho.

"Yes, ma'am?" Youngho asked, standing calmly in front of Ms. Choi's desk. The woman, with a cold stare, asked, "Why do you insist on being smart with me in my own classroom?"

"I don't believe I'm being smart with you, ma'am. I'm just telling you my answers to your questions."

"Your answers are awful back-handed, Youngho. I would greatly appreciate it if you _wouldn't_  embarrass me in my own classroom, and show me a bit of respect. Don't forget that I _can_ kick you out of my classroom at any time."

"Why haven't you?" Youngho asked. Ms. Choi's jaw clenched tightly for a moment. Through her teeth, she asked " _What?_ " and Youngho elaborated, "I know you don't like me very much, ma'am. I understand your frustration, so--why haven't you kicked me out yet?"

"Youngho, I don't appreciate this."

"It would look bad, wouldn't it? Kicking an abused orphan out of your classroom?"

Ms. Choi slammed her hands down on the table as she stood suddenly, (to which Youngho heavily flinched), "Now you listen here, Seo Youngho. You _always_  have me on the edge of my seat with your smart mouth. You had better learn to keep it shut or this classroom is going to start reminding you an awful lot of that orphanage you waste away in."

"Ms. Choi," a deep voice behind them cut into the conversation. The school principal was standing there, unnoticed by both young adults in the room until then. Ms. Choi quickly straightened up, "M-Mr. Lee," but her act wouldn't save her this time, it appeared. Mr. Lee strictly said "Come with me, please," and she gulped, and slowly walked to him-- followed him out of her classroom. Dongyoung entered the room a moment later, a worried expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" Dongyoung asked. Slowly, Youngho nodded-- "I think so."

"You're crying."

"I am?"

"Yes."

Youngho brought his hand to his cheek and felt his fingers moisten upon contact. He laughed a bit at the feeling-- "Oh."

"I'm sorry." Dongyoung said. He was quick to come closer to Youngho after he'd realized his tears; he was quick to hug him-- hold him, "I heard what she was saying to you-- I wish I could have gotten Mr. Lee quicker--"

"Thank you." Youngho said. Dongyoung nodded, but he couldn't say "You're welcome," or "No problem--" he could only said "I'm sorry."

Youngho held his waist a little tighter, " _Thank you_ ," and pulled away from the hug, wet eyes gazing into worried ones. Dongyoung nodded, "You're welcome."

Silence fell between them for some moments. Youngho wiped away the rest of his tears; Dongyoung took the tissues from Ms Choi's desk for Youngho to use.

"Do you want to come have lunch with me, Youngho?" Dongyoung asked. If it was anyone else, Youngho would have said "No, I have to study," because he always spent his lunches in the library, studying any topic he'd missed in class, but he liked Dongyoung so much-- "Yes."

The two of them sat at an empty table in the corner. Dongyoung had lunch; Youngho did not. Dongyoung offered him fruit with a wonder of "You're not going to eat?" to which Youngho declined, and said "I'm not very hungry."

Dongyoung didn't have much to say, but he was hungry, and didn't want to speak with a full mouth. A few bites into his meal, Youngho pulled out his phone and asked, "Can I take a picture of you?"

Dongyoung, for a moment, looked as if he would say no, but his expression softened into a "Yes," and he gently posed for the camera. Youngho showed him the picture afterwards. Dongyoung laughed, said "You're a beautiful photographer," and Youngho-- softly-- responded with "You're a beautiful person."

"Thank you."

"You drive me crazy, Dongyoung." Youngho said. As if he had done something wrong, Dongyoung's eyes went wide; he asked, "why?"

"Because I like you so much." Youngho said. Dongyoung's only response was a blush, and the gently act of-- kindly-- averting his shy eyes. Dramatically, and playfully, Youngho slapped his hand over his chest and said, "Kim Dongyoung, you break my heart."

"I-I'm sorry--" either Dongyoung didn't realize he was joking or he didn't know how to play along. Youngho's hand fell away from his hears. Instead of saying "It's okay" or "I'm just kidding," Youngho said "Thank you."

"Huh?"

"Thank you for breaking my heart, Kim Dongyoung." Youngho said. Dongyoung was looking at him with such confusion that Youngho almost thought Dongyoung was assuming he was crazy. Youngho continued, "You made me realize that heartbreak doesn't have to be so bad."

"It doesn't?"

"No. Because you might not like me, but you still care about me." Youngho smiled. "I think that's the best kind of heartbreak."

"Well, in that case--" Dongyoung smiled along, "You're welcome."


	15. Baby Don't Like It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _don't come around_  
>  Dongyoung needed someone to take control for him.  
> [au]: arranged marriage  
> \- warning: cheating  
> \- trigger warning: mentions of physical abuse, drug/alcohol abuse  
> ♡ doyoung and taeyong (♡ winwin and taeil)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "so what the hell is with the bed creaking in 'baby don't like it', anyway?"

**baby, is it me -- or are you doing something to me?**

"Baby-- ah, sorry." Dongyoung shook his head in attempt to shuffle his thoughts. He was having a seriously difficult time talking to the little "therapy group" around him. He only knew one of the three men-- Jung _Yoonoh_  (he liked to say his name was Jaehyun, but Dongyoung knew him enough to know better). The other two, he'd never seen before. He wasn't even sure of their names yet. He only knew that Taeyong-- or, in Dongyoung's mind, the one with white hair (and black roots) was a friend of Yoonoh's; and then there was Taeil-- or, to Dongyoung, the friend of the guy that really needed to re-do his roots.

Dongyoung supposed he shouldn't feel too awkward, as everyone was a stranger to someone in the room. That thought put his mind at ease-- a bit, anyway. He still needed a moment to actually cough up the courage to admit to his problems. The men were patient with him. Yoonoh, Taeyong, and Taeil sat around and waited for Dongyoung to continue, because it was his turn and, yes, it was already passing midnight, but he wasn't finished. He'd barely started.

"My name is Dongyoung," was a good way to start (better than trying to introduce his wife first). Dongyoung kicked his feet against the counter and tapped his fingers against the floor. He was in an odd position, and he was much too comfortable, now-- as if he was actually in a therapy group, laying on a couch, not the back of a closed down coffee shop, laying on the floor. But this was better than any other position; he rather lay like this than have to sit up and look at anyone, especially with the next words he let spill, "I'm unhappy, I guess. Marriage is rough. I don't even love her."

"And how does that make you feel?" Yoonoh asked, his voice actually spilling some genuine curiosity. Dongyoung lifted his head for the first time in about ten minutes, stopped tapping to give Yoonoh a silent look-- eyebrows furrowed, lips parted a bit. Yoonoh gave him a look back, "What? I'm helping you."

"No, you're not. You're embarrassing me." Dongyoung said. Yoonoh snorted, "You're embarrassing yourself. You look like a child."

"I'm not a child. I'm depressed." Dongyoung said. He stretched out his arms, lay back, and sighed, "I think I need someone to... I don't know. I feel like I have too much control in my life-- like I'm controlled but I'm also expected _to_  control people. Like I'm a puppet but the puppeteer made me the boss."

"Your parents are the puppeteers, and they _did_  make you the boss. They gave you a woman that couldn't take care of herself and told you to make her a housewife." Yoonoh said. Dongyoung glanced at Taeil and Taeyong, a little uncomfortable with how much of his life was being laid out on the table. Yoonoh waved his attention away from the two men sitting around, "Hyung, come on, don't be shy. This is a therapy group. We're getting to know each other-- exposing deep parts of your life is a great way to begin a friendship."

"I don't know about that...." Dongyoung said.

"Well, my name is Lee Taeyong." Taeyong said after some silence. Dongyoung looked at him from where he'd been ready to bite back at Yoonoh again as soon as the other came up with something to say-- another argument against the opinion that Yoonoh had lay on the table with about half of Dongyoung's personal problems. Taeil and Yoonoh looked, too. Taeyong felt a little shy, a little ashamed, but he knew Taeil well-- Taeil was his best friend, and he knew Yoonoh pretty well, too. Dongyoung was the only stranger-- the only stranger Taeyong would ever admit his dark side to, "I'm, uh... I'm an addict. I was. I'm-- on and off. I'm paranoid, and I'm... dirty. I want bad things. I do bad things."

"You want bad things?" Dongyoung echoed; Taeyong hadn't been expecting him to speak, nor had he expected the spark of interest in the stranger's eyes, "What kinds of bad things?"

"It's hard to say." Taeyong said-- the exact thing he'd said to Taeil and Yoonoh when they'd asked different versions of the same question. He would never do it, but he said-- "I'd have to show you."

"Bad things," Dongyoung echoed, and he still held interest in his eyes. Taeyong wondered if he was imagining it, because Taeil and Yoonoh didn't seem to notice. Taeil went on to introduce himself; Yoonoh, too, and they talked about their problems-- Taeil, about his temper and his anxiety, and Yoonoh, about his obsession with a girl. Taeyong heard every word each of them said, but it was muddled, and it would take some time to recall, because Dongyoung's gaze was the first thing in his mind.

Later-- maybe about an hour, when everyone had gotten through stories and they all agreed they should meet again in a week, Taeyong followed Dongyoung outside. It was creepy, and Taeil had warned him that it wasn't a good idea-- "Just get in the car and let me take you home, Taeyong-- he's _married_ \--" but Taeyong easily shooed him away, told him he should go back to Sicheng and practice being a good lover. Taeil had glared at him, but he had gone; he always walked away when he was angry. He was sick of violence. He was sick of hitting people.

Taeyong lit up a cigarette as he watched Dongyoung and Yoonoh talk. He watched them hug, watched Yoonoh walk away. He watched Dongyoung fumble around in his pocket for his keys, and he sprung into a brisk walk when Dongyoung had pulled them out. He flicked the ashes out of his cigarette, and he tapped on Dongyoung's shoulder when he was close enough.

"Shit!" Dongyoung said, nearly flying forward into his car. Taeyong had his cigarette between his lips when Dongyoung turned around; he had his hood up and his hands in his pockets and he honestly looked pretty damn intimidating. Dongyoung wasn't all that scared, though, and he let himself relax, because he didn't know Taeyong, but he knew him well enough, "Hell, Taeyong, you scared me. What's up? Your ride ditch you or something?"

"No, Taeil-hyung didn't ditch me. I told him to leave." Taeyong said, pulling his cigarette from his lips, blowing out the smoke. Dongyoung made a face. He hated cigarettes. His wife smoked; his father smoked. He hated both of them; he associated cigarettes with needy people. He didn't say anything about the smoke, though; and raised an eyebrow in response to Taeyong's words, "I hope you know that was just a question-- I'm not offering to take you home. I don't know you, and my wife is waiting--"

"Don't go home tonight." Taeyong said, breathing in more smoke. Dongyoung blinked, and Taeyong continued before Dongyoung could say something more, "You obviously don't like the bitch-- don't go back to her."

"The bi--? Why are you calling my wife a bitch? You don't know her." Dongyoung said, and he actually felt like standing up for her. He was taken back by how straightforward Taeyong was, by his lack of hesitation; by how rude he was compared to how shy and hesitant he'd been in the therapy group. He'd also never seen someone fidget so much in his life, but he could expect that from an addict.

"Because she hurts you. You're depressed because of her." Taeyong said. Dongyoung scoffed; he didn't like the way Taeyong talked, like he knew everything when, really, he'd just pulled the statement out of something Yoonoh had said earlier, "I think it's a little more than her. It has more to do with my parents than it does with her."

"Still." Taeyong said, and Dongyoung shook his head-- shook himself out of falling deeper into the conversation, "Hold on-- why do you care so much, anyway?"

"I like you. I see a lot in you." Taeyong said, and Dongyoung raised an eyebrow away from his frown, "Oh, yeah? What could you possibly see in a depressed stranger?"

"I can't tell you. I have to show you." Taeyong said. Dongyoung was all kinds of confused (Taeyong had said that earlier, hadn't he? but it was about something else...), but Taeyong didn't give him the chance to ask anymore questions-- pressed forward and kissed him instead, his hands coming out of his pockets to grab Dongyoung's arms, which had tried to block him from coming any closer. Dongyoung did manage to pull away, to push Taeyong back, "What the _hell?_  I have a wife!"

"You also have a desire for men-- for letting go of control to someone you trust. You don't trust me, but you can. You will." Taeyong said. Dongyoung was seriously shaken, by now. Taeyong looked creepy, attacked him with a kiss, had begun to ignore his cigarette, and was laying out most of Dongyoung's deepest secrets -- the ones Dongyoung hadn't mentioned (and Dongyoung doubted if Yoonoh told him anything). He'd buried the fact that he was gay long ago; he only faintly thought about the fact that he wanted to be controlled. The way Taeyong said it made Dongyoung think he _really knew_ , but Dongyoung didn't want to believe that he did.

"What makes you think you know me like that? I told you a story today. I told you I was depressed. What more could you have pulled from that?" Dongyoung asked. His anger was a defense mechanism, he thought. Really, his heart was shattering to dust. He hated to hear his life's flaws be spoken. It made him want to cry-- curl up and hide away, but he couldn't do that. He had to man up. He had to be a husband, not a wife.

"I studied minds before I put mine through hell. Behavior. I know how to read people." Taeyong said. He finally brought his cigarette back into his mouth, and he took a deep breath, let it out. Dongyoung let himself watch the action for a moment, and he had this odd feeling of _smoking has never looked so attractive before_ , but then he felt his throat close with disgust and he shook the thought away, focused back on the conversation.

"What makes you think I want you?" Dongyoung asked-- because it was his turn to speak. He wasn't ready to, clearly; his words sounding a little choked, and he asked the wrong question. He cleared his throat as he looked Taeyong down-- up and down-- with a judgmental eyebrow raised, and he hated the way he must have looked, but he also didn't really care-- "Of all people I could risk cheating with, why an addict with a very... _off_  attitude?"

"I don't think you want me. I know you don't. But I think I could help you, and I think you could help me." Taeyong said. Dongyoung frowned; his face was going to freeze like that, he thought. _You could help me_ \-- Dongyoung didn't want to help anyone anymore. He was sick of supporting people. He was sick of pleasing people. He kind of wanted to punch Taeyong in the face, but he'd never been that violent.

"Why do you think I'd want to help you?" Dongyoung asked. Taeyong shook his head, "I doubt if you do. You don't want to help anyone, but the point is that I can help you, too. For once, you don't have to just give, Doyoung."

"...Doyoung?"

Taeyong had to think for a moment. He closed his eyes when he remembered, a sigh escaping his lips, an annoyed tap of his finger against his cigarette; the cherry fell to the ground, "Dongyoung. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Dongyoung muttered. He leaned back against his car, a heavy breath leaving his mouth. He stared at the ground, and he played with his keys. He glanced up at Taeyong, hesitant, and asked, because he was intrigued-- much like he had felt earlier, "How could you help me?"

 

 

 

 

  
**you're shining when you smile, but I think -- maybe -- you're lying**

"I don't know how the hell you figured me out... but I'm glad you did."

Dongyoung was the only person who smiled after having sex with Taeyong. He was the only one who really enjoyed what Taeyong did, the only one who didn't have to bite his tongue against the safe word Taeyong gave him. He was the only one, the only one. Taeyong wouldn't regret him. Dongyoung might not regret Taeyong, either.

"What was it that you studied? The subject that made you so good at reading minds." Dongyoung lifted his head off of the pillow-- just a few inches-- and looked at him, with his eyes big in wonder, attentive. Taeyong was tempted to look at him, but if he turned his head or even just glanced, he would realize that they were too close, and he would pull away. He didn't want to lose this close streak that he and Dongyoung were on, no matter how much it scared him. So he covered up his dilemma with a small chuckle, a casual flick of his cigarette. The ashes fell into the small blue ash tray beside him -- one that Dongyoung had admired-- "Blue is my favorite color.... This is such a pretty shade.... Where did you get it?" and Taeyong teased him, "Why? You wanna buy one, too?" and Dongyoung shook his head, "No. Just wanna know where you shop."

"I don't read minds." Taeyong said after a calming breath disguised as a moment to exhale the smoke that hadn't occupied his lungs. "I read people."

"People are nothing but their minds--and a body. I don't think you read a body." Dongyoung said, with a scoff of doubt that really had nothing to do with Taeyong's claim. Taeyong shrugged, blowing out more smoke, "Bodies have languages. I understand that language. I read your body and your mind. Your body told me you were controlling. Your mind told me you didn't want to be."

Silence passed over them for a moment long enough for Dongyoung to pause-- one second, two seconds-- and then shift, bringing his body a little further up the bed, leaning against one arm-- his opposite arm lazy against the sheets, lazy hand gripping supportive wrist. It was a moment long enough for Taeyong to inhale the last of the smoke that he wished to suck from his cigarette. He considered flicking the cigarette and perhaps taking another breath of the toxins, but he reconsidered just as Dongyoung's elbow had dipped into the bed, and he smothered it.

"I wish I could read you like that." Dongyoung said, and Taeyong allowed himself a glance-- just a glance, because there came a point in laying next to Dongyoung that he just couldn't help it; he had to look. And his breath caught as soon as he looked at him, and Taeyong played it off as a cough. Dongyoung's hand came to his chest-- lazy hand comforting Taeyong's fluttering heartbeat. When Taeyong stopped coughing-- three brief coughs later-- Dongyoung kept his hand there, but he tapped instead of rubbing. He had a habit of tapping.

"You okay?" Dongyoung asked, chewing on his lower lip in worry. He had a habit of chewing, too. At first, Taeyong thought the little bite marks he caused were caused, instead, by his wife-- thought the little bruises that sprouted on his lips from his extreme habit came from rough sex. Turns out Dongyoung was rougher with himself than his wife ever was.

"There's not much to me. Not much to be read." Taeyong said-- promised. He itched for another cigarette--for something to do if nothing else. Why he was still so awkward around Dongyoung, well... he knew the answer. He just didn't want to admit it to himself. ( _It's only been two months, Taeyong. You're getting ahead of yourself_.)

"I want to know why you smoke." Dongyoung said. He was good at filling the silences Taeyong left them it. Dongyoung never seemed to mind them, really, but he had a lot on his mind. He had a lot of ideas and he had a lot to say and Taeyong liked that. He liked his silence but he'd had enough of it. Dongyoung was good-- so good at filling Taeyong's empty spaces, "I want to know why you're quiet. I want to know... you. I feel like I don't know you at all."

"You know more about me than you think, trust me. More than a lot of people do." Taeyong said. He still couldn't reach Dongyoung's eyes, but he could reach his hand, and he let his lazy palm meet Dongyoung's lazy palm; and they lay, lazy, together, against Taeyong's shallow stomach. Their fingers lay together in a pretty line, like well-behaved children lining up to go to class. Innocent. Carefree. Lots to discover.

"How do you know? What if I'm totally oblivious? I don't feel like I know anything about you. I feel like... I know your body, but not your mind." Dongyoung said, and he sounded so hopeless, so frustrated. Why did he want to know Taeyong so bad? Taeyong thought, perhaps, it had something relative to the question of _why can't I look at Dongyoung?_  but he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to admit it to himself.

"I know you. I know what you know." Taeyong said. At this point, Dongyoung's fingers had tensed; and he became a bit frustrated, "Clearly I don't! It's a little unfair, isn't it? You can read me like a book, so... can't you at least open up for me? I like reading a lot more than you do and you're depriving me of it."

Dongyoung's voice became calmer as he spoke, almost playful. His expression, however, was a mix of frustrated and concerned, as if Taeyong's not opening up was something to worry about. He was desperate, and he was upset, and Taeyong caught sight of his expression from the corner of his eye. Taeyong kept his gaze down, staring at his and Dongyoung's child-like fingers. Innocent. Carefree. Lots to discover.

"Your smile is alive, but your heart is dead." Taeyong said. Silence; Taeyong closed his eyes, because he didn't want to see the change in Dongyoung's expression. He held onto Dongyoung's fingers, because he didn't want to let go. "You look pretty, but you feel ugly. You look okay, but you're not. Your life seems perfect, but lots of things are off."

Taeyong could have gone without saying the words. Dongyoung was already frustrated; Taeyong was reading too much, but he thought Dongyoung deserved to hear it-- deserved to be read aloud if he wasn't allowed to read at all.

The silence killed Taeyong after just a few seconds. He swallowed his fear and drowned his pounding heart; and he rolled over-- sudden-- and he was hovering above Dongyoung, with his hands pressed into the sheets, with his mouth inches above Dongyoung's. He opened his eyes, and he saw Dongyoung's confused expression. He lay there-- just like that-- for some moments, and he finally explained himself, "I don't know what you feel for me, but the way _I_ feel for _you_... knowing you _hurts_. It hurts to know that you lie-- that you're lying to yourself and you're lying to everyone else, too. It hurts to know that you sacrifice happiness for a place in your family. It hurts to know that you give so much for something that everyone should have. It hurts to know you."

Taeyong gulped; Dongyoung, too. Dongyoung's pupils were shaking, looking between Taeyong's eyes, trying to find something else hidden there. Taeyong let himself keep his gaze still-- let his book open for Dongyoung to read. He hoped that the words were too smeared for Dongyoung to actually comprehend them. The thin layer of tears over his eyes should be enough; but that might just magnify the words. Taeyong really didn't know. (He was the one person he couldn't read.)

"If you feel at all for me the way I feel for you, you would stop. Stop trying to read me, stop trying to know me." Taeyong said. He remained where he was for a few moments more, and then he rolled off of Dongyoung, off of the bed. He collected the clothes he was lacking and pulled them on, escaped the room just for a minute to breathe.

Dongyoung didn't follow him.

 

 

 

 

  
**you're dangerously beautiful; you slowly came to me--my dilemma**

  
"I was thinking about what you said--" -- _three months ago_  might have been a continuation to Dongyoung's sentence, but he finished it there. He caught up with Taeyong outside of a library they both went to. Taeyong only went there to get out of the house, to have a smoke on the way there and a smoke on the way back. He spent most of his time on the computer, researching everything he could-- everything that would expand his shriveling brain. Dongyoung went there to check out books-- get into new series, catch up on astronomy. They'd only met there three times. This made four.

"I was thinking about how you said... it hurts to know me?" Dongyoung made it sound like a question. He was looking for confirmation; Taeyong nodded. Dongyoung wore a hesitant smile-- like he was going to ask a question, but then he wasn't, but then he did, "Why do you continue to read me, then? To hang around me? I can't imagine sex with me is _that_  great...."

"Do you remember what else I said? That I feel so much for you that it hurts to know you. That I feel for you. That I feel...." Taeyong said. Dongyoung remained quiet, avoided Taeyong's eyes. Taeyong understood why Dongyoung might not want to say it. Taeyong didn't want to say it, either. He didn't want to admit it-- not to himself, not to Dongyoung, but it was out in the open and he might as well not try to hide it anymore. He stalled, breathing in the smoke of a brand new cigarette. He blew it out, watched it billow towards Dongyoung; and then he spoke, "I'm in love with you, Doyoung."

 _Doyoung_. Taeyong hadn't stopped calling him that. It always made Dongyoung smile-- no matter what, and now was no exception. Taeyong took the moment he got-- the flash of his smile-- to admire the way he looked, to admire his beauty. He took that moment to realize just how lucky he was. Even if Dongyoung had a wife, even if Dongyoung would never be his; he was _lucky_. Dongyoung had a _wife_ \-- no matter how little he actually loved her, it was a miracle that he would risk someone catching them just to have Taeyong. It was a miracle that Dongyoung gave him the time of day; smiled with Taeyong; laughed with him; cared for him; _wanted_  him, wanted to know him. It was a privilege to fall in love with him, even if the feelings would never be reciprocated.

"You suffer a lot, Taeyong. I can tell." Dongyoung said, his voice cracking. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and his bit his bottom lip, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was shaking, and it was more than the cold chilling his bones. His brief smile had turned into brief tears-- two falling down, directly from his eyes to the ground. Taeyong watched them fall-- counted them: one, two. He wanted to reach out, wipe the rest away, but the rest didn't fall. They slid down Dongyoung's face, soaked into his jacket. They were brief tears-- sorrow, grief, "I'm sorry, Taeyong."

"Don't cry for me. I'm happy to love you." Taeyong said, and he smiled. Dongyoung blinked twice more-- and two more tears ran down his cheeks, soaked into his shirt. He pulled his hands from his pockets, and he opened his arms, and Taeyong dropped his cigarette, smothered it, and moved forward quickly, pulled Dongyoung into his arms. Dongyoung held him, and he shook, but he didn't cry. He curled his fingers against Taeyong's back, holding his jacket tight enough to have his fingers turning white. He was holding onto Taeyong like his life depended on it. Which one of their lives-- well, that was up to interpretation.

"Should we stop this?" Dongyoung asked, his voice still shaky but not enough to crack or break. He breathed, pulled away, wiped his cheeks roughly on his sleeves. Taeyong wanted to comfort him-- softer, with gentle fingers against gentle cheeks, but Taeyong let Dongyoung be rough with himself. It seemed to be the only way for Dongyoung to truly heal.

"I don't want to hurt you, Taeyong. I don't want to keep doing this if-- if all you get out of it is hurt. I don't want you to believe that I-I can love you, too, because I _can't_. I-I have my baby, I--" Dongyoung's spiel was cut by Taeyong's fingers-- palm against his cheek, thumb against his lips. He was gentle about hushing him-- was gentle with Dongyoung every chance he got. He moved his thumb from Dongyoung's lips to Dongyoung's cheek.

"It would hurt me more to let you go." Taeyong said. He let his hand fall, tuck itself into his pocket, "I love you, Doyoung--" and he smiled at the little smile he got-- "and as much as I wish we could be together... I know we can't. I-- really, I don't want to be. I'm shit in a relationship and I would hurt you. This is perfect. We meet in the middle. Random encounters and too much sex. It's what we both need. I'm okay with it. If you aren't, I get it. If you want to get off the ride, I understand. But don't worry about me. I'll always want this with you... at least this."

Dongyoung nodded, and then he shook his head, "I don't want to stop. I-I like this... I need this."

"Okay." Taeyong said, and he gave a small, small smile; and Dongyoung did, too. They briefly linked hands-- fingers falling together like children lining up to play. Excited-- a little bit unruly. Taeyong brought his and Dongyoung's hand up, and he kissed the wild children and he watched Dongyoung's eyes light up a little bit-- watched his smile reach his eyes for once.

(Taeyong was going to have to start making a mental list of things that made Dongyoung smile like that.)

 

 

 

 

  
***'m looking for your hands by habit--even though you're already gone**

Taeyong had never felt more disappointed in himself than he did about eight months into his and Dongyoung's... 'relationship'. He'd fallen asleep by himself-- as he had been for all these months, all these years. He woke up in his own crappy apartment-- as he had for all these months, all these years. But, for some stupid reason, he woke up, and he rolled over, and he searched for Dongyoung's body. His fingers gripped the cold sheets, and he let a whine escape, with a wonder of "Doyoung?" and he woke up to a dark room instead of Dongyoung's bright smile; and his heart dropped in disappointment-- both in himself and relating to the fact that Dongyoung wasn't there. (Dongyoung was at home with his wife.)

Taeyong rolled onto his other side and lit up a cigarette. He lay back and closed his eyes, inhaled smoke, exhaled a mix of smoke and carbon dioxide-- two unhealthy chemicals that his lungs could handle, somehow. He lay back and he thought about Dongyoung; he thought about the man's orange hair, the man's smile. He thought about the man-- plain and simple, and he missed him. They'd only been apart for two days, and Taeyong missed him.

Part of Taeyong wished he had Dongyoung's number, but "that's too risky, Tae, I'm sorry," and Taeyong wasn't about to argue with him. He had a wife; Taeyong was just a dirty secret he hid behind his back.--So why the _hell_ did Taeyong have to fall in love with him?

Taeyong looked at his cigarette, and suddenly he felt angry. He reached for his night stand and smothered the stupid thing, watched as his fingers crushed the fire. It was the one dangerous thing that he could destroy. The other things-- his feelings, his habits-- he couldn't destroy those. Not like that. He couldn't just make up his mind and crush it in a second. It was satisfying to be able to crush a cigarette. It was satisfying to be able to crush a problem.

(It was satisfying to switch one blinding light off.)

Taeyong rolled out of bed and grabbed a jacket, slipped it on over his shirt. He grabbed for his shoes; he already had socks on. He couldn't sleep without socks on. He grabbed his phone, his cigarettes, and he left. He didn't take a lighter with him. He doubted if he would actually have a cigarette; he was only going for a walk, anyway. He would bury himself in his cheap little apartment in the next five minutes. He just needed to clear his head. He needed the fresh air. He doubted if it would help his cloudy thoughts; but adding cloudy smoke to cloudy thoughts was surely not the way to go. He could at least test this out.

So, he found himself outside; and, instead of clearing his thoughts, he found himself thinking about how Dongyoung felt. His thinking was creation, because he didn't actually have any clue how Dongyoung felt. Was he guilty--for cheating on his wife? Was he happy--with what he and Taeyong were doing? What did Taeyong mean to Dongyoung? Was he just a dirty secret? Did he even mean that much? Was he just stress relief? Did he only give himself to Taeyong to let go of all the dominance, the control? Did it even matter that it was _Taeyong?_  If someone else came along to offer the same thing, would Dongyoung abandon Taeyong?

\--Taeyong couldn't even get Dongyoung's name right. _Doyoung_. Yeah, Taeyong thought; he would leave me. (That begged another question: could you even _leave_  something you weren't attached to?)

Taeyong kicked at a garbage can that he came across, angry tears stinging his eyes. He broke into a run somewhere in the middle of the block, because if he was going to cry, he sure as hell wasn't going to be in public when he did it.

Taeyong tossed his phone, his keys, and his cigarettes on the counter when he made it inside. He slammed his door and he locked it, and he turned around and he pressed his back to the wood, and he slid down slowly, calmly, but he burst into tears when he was at the bottom. Taeyong had it in his mind that he meant nothing to Dongyoung, and there was absolutely no sign and no appropriate way of finding out if it was true or not. Even if he found out--what then? What would he do then? Dongyoung couldn't be his. He had a wife. He had a wife, a wife-- some stupid bitch was his wife!

Taeyong took in a deep breath and let it out. Lately, he'd been talking to himself-- internally, of course (he wasn't that crazy yet). He told himself he had to calm down; he was aggressive and he had more than one anger issue and if he let himself be angry about the situation in private, there was going to come a day that he took the aggression out on Dongyoung. He couldn't do that. He couldn't let himself do that. He loved Dongyoung too much to do that-- yes, _yes_ , he _loved_  Dongyoung too much to hurt him. (He wished he could say the same. He wished he didn't love Dongyoung so much that he let the younger hurt him. -- But it wasn't Dongyoung fault. Was it? He was cheating on his wife, messing around with Taeyong. Was it his fault if Taeyong got hurt? Taeyong offered it; so maybe it was Taeyong's fault if anyone got hurt. Taeyong had to stop thinking--now--his head was pounding and he was itching for another cigarette but he didn't want to light it up and be tempted to crush it because he didn't want to think about all the stupid problems he had and how he couldn't just crush those away; so his only option was to sit here and cry and he hated to do that because he hated to be weak-- but did crying make him weak? He'd been trying to convince himself that it didn't. That was hard, though, when his fingers were going numb and he couldn't even grip his hair anymore _because_  he was crying.)

Taeyong gathered himself enough to walk into his room-- phone, keys, and cigarettes left on the counter. He gathered himself enough to collapse on his bed and curl in his sheets and fall asleep; because his head was pounding as hard as his heart, and his heart was pounding for Kim Dongyoung.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**INTERLUDE: JUNG YOONOH**

Every time Taeyong saw Dongyoung, he remembered why he was so okay with the break-downs and the headaches and the overall pain. When he saw the man's smile as he interacted with Taeyong's best friend, he remembered why he was so goddamn in love. When he heard Dongyoung laugh as he talked to his own best friend-- well, Taeyong's too (Yoonoh was friends with everyone)-- he remember why he was so hopelessly attracted to him. When he saw Dongyoung, he remembered that, no matter what, he could take the pain that came with not having Dongyoung as his. (He could take the pain that came with not being loved, because at least he had the privilege to see and know and love him.)

"So, Dongyoung?" Yoonoh asked, snapping Taeyong out of his thoughts. Dongyoung was sitting on the counter with a cup in his hand, and he was talking to Taeil, who was leaning against the counter, a cup in his hand, too. The two formed a very typical-looking scene; only Taeyong wasn't imagining them in an old coffee shop. He imagined some college party with Dongyoung as a lonely girl that was ditched by her friends. He imagined Taeil as some guy that had a major crush on her, who abandoned his friends to talk to her. He remembered himself in that position, once. Too much alcohol in his cup and a pretty girl on the counter next to him. (Worst mistake he'd ever made.)

"Yeah," Taeyong muttered, snapping himself out of it. The cups in Dongyoung's and Taeil's hands were white, not red. They were full of coffee, not alcohol. They weren't flirting; they were just talking. Dongyoung wasn't leaning forward and laughing because he was flattered; he was actually laying back, very casual, and laughing because Taeil was funny as hell, as rarely as it came out. And Taeyong was not a part of it. He was not at a party. He was in a therapy group... a "therapy group;" Yoonoh was _still_  trying to convince everyone that's what it was.

"He doesn't love his wife." Yoonoh said, and Taeyong nodded, "Yeah."

"Dongyoung's a pretty honest guy." Yoonoh said. Taeyong finally looked at him-- somehow ripping his eyes away from Dongyoung. Yoonoh had a cup in his hand, too; and he was leaning against the wall with one arm tucked around his stomach, the other elbow touching the middle of his forearm. He wore a pitiful smile, but a hopeful one, matching his words, "Eventually, he's going to break it off with his wife. I'm trying to help him do that. He'll come out to his parents-- say he doesn't love her, he doesn't want this; he _can't_  do this. They forced him into it, and they're going to disown him once he says something, but he's strong. He'll do it one day.... You might have your chance."

Taeyong was silent for a second. He didn't know if he could believe Yoonoh or not; it was odd for something like this to come from Yoonoh, because he was an amazing best friend and-- "Aren't best friends kind of supposed to, you know, keep their friends away from shit guys?"-- and, yes, Taeyong knew Dongyoung was honest, but he couldn't be _that_  honest. He was cheating on his wife; how honest could a cheater possibly be?

"I don't think you're a bad guy. I think you're in a bad place." Yoonoh said. Taeyong had heard that countless times before. He believed it less and less each time.

"I hope you'll tell us your story. We're all a little curious-- why you're so closed off, why you got into what you did. I hope you know that we won't judge you. We've all got problems." Yoonoh said. Taeyong nodded, gaze fixed on the floor. And then he paused, "What's yours?"

"What's mine? You mean-- apart from the fact that I stalked someone for a year?" Yoonoh asked, and Taeyong gulped, hummed, "Yeah. I... sorry--" _how do you forget that about someone?_  Yoonoh just laughed, "It's okay. I don't have anything else, really-- I don't think I do. I'm glad I knew I was wrong, though. If I didn't... that would be a bigger problem-- would have stemmed from some other problems. Like my dad being a stalker."

"Your dad was a stalker?" Taeyong asked. Yoonoh nodded. His gaze was fixed on the floor; and Taeyong and Yoonoh had switched, because Taeyong was looking at Yoonoh, now. "He stalked some little girl that lived on our block. Made me watch sometimes, too. I think-- that's probably why I just kept watching her. The girl I liked-- _like_. I was so used to it... but I know it's wrong. I knew it was wrong."

Yoonoh gulped, smiled, "I actually think... because that little girl ended up dead, I think that might have... helped me? Because I-- I was so set on her-- on the girl, the recent one.... I like her a lot. A _lot_ \-- and-- genuinely. I got scared of her dying because of... what I was doing, so I stopped. I admire her, still. I'll see her when she's walking but I'll only let myself glance. I don't want to be like my dad. I don't want to kill her."

Taeyong was silent for a long time. Yoonoh's fingers were digging into the foam cup, and he was chewing on his lip. (Taeyong wondered, briefly, if he picked the habit up from Dongyoung-- or, perhaps, if Dongyoung had gotten the habit from him. But Yoonoh didn't have permanent bite marks on his lips; it must have been Dongyoung who started the habit.) Taeyong finally broke the silence with a careful question, "Your dad killed a little girl?" and Yoonoh shrugged right away, "I couldn't say for sure. But she disappeared-- was never found, and my dad was real, _real_  quiet after she went missing. He didn't let me go to the basement, either."

"Oh." Taeyong muttered, and Yoonoh smiled in a bitter way, nodded in a stiff way. He looked up, stared at the sky and waited for the layer of tears that had formed to go away. He wiped his eyes once, twice, and then he sniffled, and he lowered his gaze back to Taeyong. He wore a gentle smile-- Taeyong admired the way he could smile through everything, "But. Yeah. I don't tell that story very often. Only one who's heard it like that is Dongyoung."

 _Like that?_ Taeyong wondered, but he didn't ask. He just nodded quietly. He left the two of them in silence for some moments more. He wasn't the one to break it that time, anyway; Yoonoh was, "So I hope you won't be afraid to tell us what happened, what's happen _ing_ \-- if that happens to be the case. We won't judge. Especially not me."

"Yeah," Taeyong said, absent-minded. He looked at Dongyoung-- his pretty smile and his pretty laughter, and he felt a smile drawn to his own face, "Next time, I think."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**what's scary is the way you talk -- what gives me goosebumps is the way you smile**

"There are so many things I love about you." Dongyoung muttered one night-- one night that Taeyong's shirt wasn't the first thing off of his body-- one night that Taeyong wasn't the second one naked. Something must have happened; Dongyoung was stressed, he was happy. Taeyong wasn't sure; but he had tucked himself into Taeyong's apartment, into his body, and he'd stripped himself half-naked before they even made it to Taeyong's room, and he was only in his underwear by the time they were in Taeyong's bed. Then came Taeyong's pants, and _then_  his shirt-- and Dongyoung's underwear, and Taeyong's, and they were here now, with Dongyoung's lips hot on Taeyong's, with his teeth on Taeyong's bottom lip.

"I love everything about you." Taeyong muttered. How many times had he admitted it, now? he wondered; but he stopped wondering, because thinking about it always gave him a headache and he didn't want his head to hurt when he had to focus on Dongyoung. The silence in their words was taken over by the deafening of their hums--the creak of the bed as Taeyong dipped his body into Dongyoung's, the scrape of fingernails against sheets as Taeyong's flat palms curled into fists. His hips were fitted with Dongyoung's, and he was moving them slightly-- _just enough_. Dongyoung's moans took over whatever words he wanted to say; Taeyong could feel his jaw move like he wanted to speak, but Taeyong licked into his mouth, and the words jumped away after that.

They came back minutes later, accompanied by a smile, "I love how you talk to me."

"How I talk to you?" Taeyong wondered--wondered which kind of talking Dongyoung was thinking of. The bedroom talk? The dirty talk? The _I'm dominant, I'm taking over_ talk? The _I love you_ talk? The _I adore you_  talk? There were a lot of ways in which Taeyong talked to Dongyoung; but Taeyong let himself assume, because Dongyoung said _so many things_ , that he meant all.

"I love how you react to me." Taeyong muttered, filling in the space that took over as Dongyoung tried to think of an answer to Taeyong's quiet wonder. The sheets pulled beneath his fingernails as he slid his hand lower, closer to Dongyoung's body. His fingers curled beneath Dongyoung's side-- rough, calloused fingers digging into soft, smooth skin. Dongyoung's body shifted slightly--as Taeyong's fingers against his skin meant _come closer to me_ , and Dongyoung naturally obeyed.

"I love the way you turn me on." Dongyoung said as Taeyong was kissing at his jaw--a habit. Taeyong was addicted to kisses; he'd been so scared, at the beginning, that Dongyoung wouldn't let Taeyong kiss him, because this was supposed to be a no-strings-attached kind of relationship, but Dongyoung allowed Taeyong to tie strings around his wrists, his ankles, his belt loops, and play him like a puppet. Taeyong was so grateful for that-- grateful for the way Dongyoung's lower lip bumped Taeyong's nose as he spoke; and Taeyong flicked his nose up against Dongyoung's lip again, just to feel half a kiss from him. Dongyoung smiled, and he breathed out, "You-- hell, you turn me on _so much_... I feel like I'll never be turned off."

Dongyoung was a light switch that Taeyong never wanted to turn off.

"I love how you control me. Make me throw away my control. Make me throw it all away," Dongyoung said-- filling more silence as Taeyong focused on kisses-- and he said the last part as a plea; he raised his hands above him, wrists crossed against his head. He closed his eyes, and he parted his lips, and he waited for Taeyong to do whatever he pleased. Taeyong's mood was love and kisses; he wanted to be gentle and kiss him through, love him up. Sometimes he had his rough moods, his bad days. Even Dongyoung couldn't contrast his bad mood enough for the bad mood to disappear, sometimes. But now-- right now-- he was okay. Right now, he could gently lick into Dongyoung's mouth and take it slow. Right now, he could nibble at Dongyoung's bottom lip and listen to him laugh, smile at his words of "I love when you do that," and bring his smile to a close to do it again.

"I love you," Taeyong said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. His heart was racing around all the love; he forgot, for a moment, that Dongyoung even had a wife. He forgot about the woman in the picture that was ruining Taeyong's chances. He forgot, because his mind was clouded with _Dongyoung loves me_ , and that was a dangerous thought stemming from dangerous words. That was a dangerous feeling, because it could take over.

Hell, Kim Dongyoung was dangerous.

"I love your love. It's the only love I've ever gotten," Dongyoung said-- and it was so soft, like a secret that Taeyong wasn't supposed to hear-- like Dongyoung was talking to someone else and hoping Taeyong wasn't eavesdropping as he focused on something else (on kissing Dongyoung's neck). Taeyong made a point of making his kisses that much more gentle, hoping Dongyoung felt the love, hoping he would be filled with it, hoping he would never forget it. Dongyoung deserved all the love in the world; and Taeyong wasn't perfect, but he knew he loved Dongyoung right.

"I love you so much," Taeyong said, _promised_ , and Dongyoung's smile sent goosebumps all the way down Taeyong's spine. Taeyong almost didn't want to kiss him again, because his smile was so goddamn beautiful, but he was a sucker for smiles; and he glued Dongyoung's smile to his eyelids so he could see it as he closed his eyes and kissed the younger man.

"I love so much about you," Dongyoung said again; and Taeyong tried to pretend it didn't hurt that Dongyoung couldn't say _I love you, too_.

 

 

 

 

  
**you're the topic and the subject of everything -- _(uh oh)_ \-- but the problem is, * don't hate it that much -- _(oh no.)_**

"Did I ever tell you that I'm happy you decided to open up to us-- share your story?" Dongyoung asked one morning-- one morning of meeting in the library, two days after a "therapy group" meeting-- one that was different, because Taeyong finally said what Yoonoh wanted to hear. Fast-forward, and it was Monday morning, which meant work in an hour-- for Dongyoung, anyway. Taeyong was on and off with odd jobs, one of which he currently didn't have. Work also meant that Dongyoung couldn't stick around for long, and that he'd likely stopped by the library upon chance. He didn't follow Taeyong in, couldn't have seen him until he passed by the computers to check out the book tucked under his arm.

"You didn't." Taeyong muttered softly. He knew his story would come up in conversation, because it was another step closer to knowing everything about Lee Taeyong-- and Dongyoung was still so set on that, for some reason. Taeyong wished and wished Dongyoung would stop trying to get to know him. He wished and wished he hadn't let himself be so influenced by Yoonoh's words-- by his story and his hope of "--you won't be afraid to tell us what happened, what's happen _ing_ \-- if that happens to be the case."

"Well, I'm happy that you decided to open up to us." Dongyoung said. He glanced at his watch, and then made a conscious decision to sit down. Taeyong was able to see the book in his hand, now. It was titled _Space_ , but it didn't look like one of his astronomy books. In fact, when Taeyong continued to read the title-- the sub-title, it seemed, he saw something about _Marriage_  between the bold, white **Space**  and the author's name. He looked at Dongyoung when the younger slid his hand over the title of the book.

"Seems like there's something you're not opening up about." Taeyong commented weakly, glancing at the back of Dongyoung's hand. Dongyoung sighed softy, moving his hand-- knowing, now, that Taeyong had already seen the title. It read _Space_ , and then, beneath it, _What To Do About Failing Marriage_. Dongyoung stared at the cover for some moments. Taeyong did, too; but he looked up when Dongyoung muttered, "My parents are coming to visit next month."

Taeyong nodded like he understood, but really, he didn't. Dongyoung wasn't in a mood to elaborate; he was in the mood to hide the book again, like that was going to make both of them forget about it, and ask about Taeyong-- "So, it was a girl that--"

"Please don't." Taeyong said; Dongyoung was trying to bring up Taeyong's story again. Taeyong wasn't in the mood-- and it wasn't like he would ever be, but he'd already shifted his focus back to the computer in front of him. He'd positioned his fingers appropriately on the keyboard like hr was going to continue typing, but Dongyoung's appearance had swiped all the ideas out of his head-- and now, with the knowledge that Taeyong's story was still present in Dongyoung's mind, Taeyong was even more distracted. Even with Dongyoung going silent for some moments, giving Taeyong a chance to focus, Taeyong couldn't bring his mind back to his poetry. He'd written four, five, six in the past hour and a half-- which left him half an hour and a goal of at least seven.

"What are you writing?" Dongyoung switched the subject-- of which Taeyong was thankful. Taeyong gestured to the screen, allowing Dongyoung to take a peek for himself. Dongyoung read over the words about flowers and alcohol, and a faint, curious smile spread over his lips, "You're a flower type of guy?"

"Not really. But they're symbolic." Taeyong said. Dongyoung leaned back, and Taeyong thought about pressing his fingers to the keys to try to continue his writing, but his focus was already on Dongyoung. Toss the theme of alcoholism and toss the subject of delicate flowers; his theme was Dongyoung, his subject was Dongyoung; and his focus lay upon the pretty book in front of him rather than the idea of one in the back of his mind.

"You like flowers, don't you?" Taeyong asked, seeing a spark of interest in Dongyoung's eyes suddenly fade with his last words. Dongyoung quirked an eyebrow, the other frowning, "How did you know?"

Taeyong shrugged, "Your eyes told me," and Dongyoung let out a piqued sigh, with a smile to accompany, "You just know everything, don't you? Can you tell my favorite flower by my smile, too?"

"I could. But only if your smile speaks to me." Taeyong said, his lips forming their own little smile. Dongyoung stared at him for a moment, with his smile fading just a little, but only because of his thought, expressed in his next words-- "You know, when someone asks me, I usually tell them irises. They're simple and pretty and accessible, but that's... off-- they're not actually my favorites."

"Do I get to know what your favorite is?" Taeyong asked. Dongyoung seemed to stop and think about it for a moment; he went silent and he averted his gaze, staring at the ground. When he looked back up, he had an evil little smirk on his lips, "It's a flower that means freedom, and it doesn't grow here."

Dongyoung stood, his eyes on his watch, "I have to go now."

Dongyoung didn't say goodbye; he just smiled and left-- spent only a minute more in the library to check out his book. Taeyong spent his remaining fifteen minutes looking up flowers that meant _'freedom'_  and changing all the pretty red tulips in his poem to be birds of paradise.

 

 

 

 

  
*** like it when we get closer -- when it gets risky**

Dongyoung's parents in town meant no time for Taeyong. For once, Dongyoung missed a meeting. For once (or twice), Taeyong wished he had Dongyoung's number. He would have loved to send him an _are you okay?_  text or even the classic, the cheesy, _I'm thinking about you_. He thought about it, and he thought Dongyoung might like that. Dongyoung liked the attention; he might like that he was in Taeyong's thoughts. (Though, he most likely already knew that he was.)

Taeyong was left without Dongyoung for almost two weeks. He finally saw him again one Friday night, one meeting night in the back of that old, abandoned coffee shop. Dongyoung rushed into the little group session and frowned at the new face. Dong Sicheng-- sporting teary eyes and a new bruise beneath his lip. He was mostly there to let everyone know that Taeil was in the hospital, but he'd gotten quite into it about a fight they had-- a fight where Taeil relapsed on his abuse and Sicheng was so scared-- he grabbed a vase, and Taeil needed stitches.

"I think we might break up," Sicheng had said. He said it when he was curled up-- when Dongyoung was sitting down and listening attentively to his story. They were all listening, and Yoonoh, too, was attentive, but Taeyong was distracted-- by want, by need, by selfish desire for the man sitting across from him. Dongyoung looked so beautiful that night. He looked healthy, like he'd been happy lately-- odd, because Taeyong thought he hated his parents. He wondered what it was that made him glow that night. Perhaps Taeyong just craved him so bad, hadn't seen or felt him in so long. Perhaps Taeyong was making a star out of a simple man.

"Thank you for coming tonight, Sicheng." Yoonoh said. He offered a smile, and Sicheng offered one back. He then looked to Taeyong, and something felt off. Taeyong felt an odd sort of guilt in the pit of his stomach-- guilt for Sicheng, for Taeil. He felt like, perhaps, he wasn't a great friend-- like he should have been able to do something for or to Taeil that could have prevented all of this. Perhaps he could have talked to Taeil. Perhaps he could have been around more. Perhaps he shouldn't have drifted so much, focused so much on Dongyoung. Maybe Taeil was feeling abandoned and scared again; perhaps a fight broke out because Sicheng had gone out with his friends or come home later than usual. Perhaps Taeil had felt like a cub, biting at the back of its partner's neck so that she didn't leave.

"Why did you two fight?" Taeyong asked-- simple and unfiltered. Sicheng's eyes went blue again-- blue with an ocean of tears, but they remained floating in his eyes-- the ocean simply splashed the sand, did not tsunami over it.

"I was late," was all Sicheng said-- and he knew. Taeyong _knew it_ , and he felt sick with the guilt. He swallowed back the bitter feeling that was crawling to his tongue, and he simply nodded. He thought about saying sorry, but he thought Sicheng might be confused-- because, more likely than not, Sicheng didn't blame him. More likely than not, Sicheng blamed himself-- as a victim of abuse, he would think it was his fault.

"It's not your fault," Taeyong muttered-- very quiet. Sicheng picked up on the statement despite how quiet it was, and he gave a bitter smile-- a thankful smile, but he didn't believe Taeyong, and Taeyong felt guilty all over again. If only he hadn't drifted. If only he'd let Taeil know he wouldn't be abandoned. If only, if only; Taeil might not have done this.

"What's your name?" Dongyoung's voice flooded Taeyong's mind, and Taeyong fell deeper into his pit of guilt, but also into his one of desire. Dongyoung's voice reminded him of the mistake he'd made-- of letting Dongyoung come before Taeil; but he was also reminded of how much he missed that voice. He was reminded of how badly he wanted to hear Dongyoung say his name-- how badly he wanted to hear Dongyoung not saying anything at all. He wanted Dongyoung's lips; he wanted Dongyoung's body. He was going crazy with desire; and, before Sicheng could even utter his name, the guilt had all but disintegrated to the back of his mind.

"Sicheng," Dongyoung repeated-- a few seconds after Sicheng had uttered his name. Taeyong felt a flash of jealousy-- of _that should be my name he's saying_. And then the guilt crawled back to his throat, because Sicheng was already a victim of senseless jealousy and Taeyong really didn't need to taint Sicheng-- not even his name in his own mind.

"It's nice to meet you."

Not much else was said for the rest of the night. Most of the night, in fact, was spent comforting Siceng-- mostly from Yoonoh. Yoonoh seemed drawn to Sicheng, and Taeyong couldn't tell if the pull was one of attraction or sympathy. It was hard to tell with Yoonoh. (But Yoonoh was so good at telling; so when Taeyong disappeared with Dongyoung, and he looked back at Yoonoh, he could see it in Yoonoh's eyes. Yoonoh knew.)

"I missed you," Taeyong hissed, Yoonoh's expression fading into the back of his mind. He and Dongyoung were just outside of the shop-- mere yards away from Yoonoh and Sicheng. Taeyong had Dongyoung against the building, lips hot on lips, fingers burning on skin-- slipping beneath clothes, craving _more_. Dongyoung hadn't had much of a chance to say or do anything, but he went with it; he went with Taeyong's touch and kiss and desire. He seemed to need it more than want it, that night.

As Taeyong was pulling Dongyoung's jacket down his shoulders, dragging him to the car-- kissing Dongyoung right in front of the open back entrance of the coffee shop, a dangerous place in which Yoonoh and Sicheng could have easily seen them, Taeyong almost asked if Dongyoung had missed him, too. But-- he gently lay Dongyoung in the back of his car, shut his door behind him, stripped him of more articles of clothing-- he didn't want to know the answer.

 

 

 

 

  
**it only feels like *'ve started when you hold my hand**

"I meant to mention it," Taeyong muttered, nose nuzzling against Dongyoung's neck. Post-sex, breathless; Dongyoung could barely force his eyes open to look at Taeyong, but he managed somehow, and he found himself a little bit annoyed when he looked at Taeyong and Taeyong wasn't even ready to speak yet, but the annoyance disintegrated once Taeyong opened his mouth again--

"Birds of paradise-- your favorite flowers--" Taeyong started, and he was interrupted slightly by Dongyoung's little smile. Dongyoung said nothing, however-- spoke nothing, and Taeyong was able to continue after the skip of his heart and the stutter in his words, "--they-- they represent love... between a man and a woman."

Dongyoung was silent for a long, long time; and it had very, very little to due with the fact that he was oddly tired that day.

"Flowers represent a lot of things," Dongyoung said at last, and he said it with his tired eyes locked on Taeyong's. He gave a smile as his eyes slipped shut, and he pointed that smile up in Taeyong's general direction, "It depends on how you interpret them."

"I interpreted them like...." Taeyong didn't even want to say it. _What are you doing? Why are you trying to complicate things? This was never about you or your feelings. It's about Dongyoung; it's all about Kim Dongyoung. He's the subject of everything; he's the theme of everything. You're the idiot who fell in love-- stop trying to make him feel guilty about it_. Somehow, Taeyong's persistent thoughts weren't changing his mind.

"Like?" Dongyoung asked, and that was a good time for Taeyong to just drop it, but he'd always been a little bit impulsive, his train of thought always a little too strong for his weakened mind-- "Like I'm not really helping you at all."

Dongyoung nodded, as if he really understood. He repositioned himself to be propped up slightly, leaning against one elbow. His forearm pressed against the sheets, fingers curling around Taeyong's shoulder. His other hand-- his left-- found Taeyong's head, fingers brushing softly through his hair. It was the most affectionate touch Dongyoung had ever given him; and, to accompany it, he wore the most affectionate look Taeyong had ever seen him express.

"Interpretation is never wrong-- just like it's never right." Dongyoung said. (Taeyong briefly remembered Dongyoung's soft complaints about Taeyong being intellectual; and Taeyong always thought he should mention that Dongyoung was actually very intellectual himself, but he got too caught up in Dongyoung's words to interrupt him.) His fingers began to twist some strands of Taeyong's hair-- left and right, spiraling and letting go. The strands would untwirl as they fell back against Taeyong's head, and Dongyoung would watch them. Taeyong, however, was not so caught up in the way his hair curled; he was zeroed in on Dongyoung's words, on his intellectual nature, "But I'll tell you what I think. I think birds of paradise represent freedom. I like their deep meaning of freedom in paradise. I don't like their love between a man and a woman."

Taeyong watched his expression change-- watched as his eyes didn't even flicker back to Taeyong's face. He focused on Taeyong's hair-- curling and uncurling, twisting and untwisting, squeezed between Dongyoung's fingers and flat against Taeyong's head. (Taeyong took note to the fact that Dongyoung was often infatuated with his hair-- fingers through it when Taeyong was buried deep inside him; eyes trained on it no matter what Taeyong was doing.)

"Do with my interpretation what you will," Dongyoung said. He moved his hand from Taeyong's hair, and he looked back to Taeyong's eyes-- a flicker of a glance and a flicker of a smile, "I hope my view can alter yours."

Silence followed; the creak of the bed only broke it for a few moments as Dongyoung lay back and closed his eyes. Dongyoung wouldn't fall asleep, not with Taeyong. No matter how tired he was or how comfortable-- no matter how much he didn't want to go home, he wouldn't fall asleep with Taeyong. There came a limit in their sex-filled relationship; and Dongyoung would be the last person in the world to cross a line (especially one that he had drawn).

Taeyong wished he could wipe the line off of their limitations. He wished there didn't have to be limitations.

Taeyong reached for Dongyoung's hand. He crossed the line of blankets between them in order to do so. Dongyoung didn't flinch or pull away when Taeyon's fingers caught his. He didn't open his eyes or say anything. He did do something, though-- just one thing that made Taeyong's heart race.

Dongyoung's fingers curled, and he gripped Taeyong's hand a little tighter.

 

 

 

 

  
**when *'m with you, danger seems like a good thing; whether it's right or wrong, you decide for me**

Taeyong felt like he won the lottery one day, after a meeting, when Dongyoung pulled Taeyong in by the collar and told him "My wife isn't home."

Taeyong felt like the richest and happiest man on earth when Dongyoung drove him to his house, holding his hand, and pulled him all the way upstairs. Taeyong took the few moments he had in the living room to look around. It was dark, but he could tell it was beautiful. The house-- _gorgeous_. Taeyong envied Dongyoung for the beautiful place in which he lived, but knowing what he had to pay for it, Taeyong didn't think he was _that_  jealous.

"This is dangerous." Dongyoung said, climbing into bed and pulling Taeyong along with him. Taeyong let him lead, for once. It was his house, after all-- completely new territory to Taeyong. Dongyoung could lead in his own bed.

"Danger is a good thing." Taeyong said, and Dongyoung hummed to agree-- hummed because he pulled Taeyong in and kissed him hard, leaving them no room to speak.

The room smelled like perfume, Taeyong noticed--after an hour of love-making, in which there was only love on one side (but Taeyong thought he held enough love for both of them). He was laying with Dongyoung, who was leaning against his shoulder. Holding his hand. That part was the most heart-fluttering--the fact that Dongyoung found his fingers under the sheets and held them. Taeyong knew Dongyoung was half-asleep, and that's where the touch came from, but Taeyong always thought unconscious actions were far more romantic than conscious ones, anyway. (Maybe Dongyoung really _did_  love him.)

"You have a beautiful house." Taeyong mentioned, finding the silence a bit strange. He and Dongyoung were hardly ever silent after physically meeting, touching. Taeyong wondered if something was wrong. He wondered if Dongyoung was comfortable, or uncomfortable. (He was holding Taeyong's hand--he must be comfortable, right?)

"My dad bought it for me." Dongyoung muttered. He tilted his head, and his breath began to ghost over Taeyong's neck. If Taeyong wasn't used to soft, heated air against his neck, he might have shivered. If he wasn't already holding Dongyoung's hand, his heart might have fluttered.

"Taeyong?" Dongyoung asked, and Taeyong hummed. Dongyoung was silent for a moment too long, which had them both speaking at the same time, "What--" "What--?" and they laughed a bit-- Taeyong more than Dongyoung. Something was bothering Dongyoung.

"Tell me." Taeyong said when Dongyoung had been silent for another moment too long. Dongyoung sat up, leaning against his elbow. His hand still held Taeyong's fingers.

"What do you think about all of this? Honestly, what do you think?" Dongyoung asked. Taeyong was confused. Dongyoung looked tired--exhausted, even. His eyes blinked slowly and he soon lay back against Taeyong's shoulder, tired of holding himself. His fingers were limp in Taeyong's hand. Taeyong wondered if he'd fainted, but Dongyoung spoke again, "What do you think of me?"

"You already know I love you."

"I mean. Me. As a person, fucking around with you even though I have a wife. What do you think about that?" Dongyoung asked. With the thought in mind, Taeyong contemplated. What _did_  he think? He couldn't say he was disgusting, or repulsed, or anything by Dongyoung's cheating--he'd be a hypocrite, in a way, if he did. Sure, he'd never cheated himself, but he was allowing himself to love a married man. He was a homewrecker.

"I think you're in a bad situation." Taeyong said.

"So you blame the situation, not the person?" Dongyoung asked. His tone was so heavy, Taeyong thought he might be upset at his response. Still, he stuck with it, curious at Dongyoung's changed attitude. He said, "Yes," and Dongyoung smiled. He smiled for a minute, and he laughed for a moment; he tilted his head up; he kissed Taeyong's jaw, and cheek, and lips. It was so sweet-- and so out-of-place, too, for Dongyoung had yet to kiss him past the heat of the moment.

"I love you, you know." Dongyoung muttered against Taeyong's skin-- teeth against shoulder as he laughed, "I really do love you."

(Taeyong's heart felt as though it would flutter right out of his chest; and he was so caught in his bliss, he didn't realize what exactly it was that was so off about Dongyoung that night.)

 

 

 

**\- + -**

 

 

 

INTERLUDE

**my baby don't like it when you come around**

"I can't believe my wife almost caught us." Dongyoung giggled as Taeyong was nibbling at his chin, finding any place he could to leave a subtle bruise. Taeyong had a thought of _he loves me_ when he tried to steer his mind away from leaving obvious bruises so his wife might find them. He had a morbid thought of _I should leave a hickey so his wife will find it, and end things with him_ , but could he really do that do Dongyoung? (Should he?)

"You're good at hiding." Dongyoung muttered, and he giggled again. His eyes were closed; his arms were weak. When Taeyong kissed him, his taste was strong. He was drunk, Taeyong thought. He pulled away from Dongyoung at the thought. Dongyoung continued to giggle into the night air for some moments, and then he opened his eyes, and wondered, "Why did you stop? I missed you."

It had only been a few days since Taeyong and Dongyoung had last seen each other. Once again, the group brought them together; Jaehyun reeled them all in to talk, and Dongyoung and Taeyong escaped together. They were still next to the building; Dongyoung was pressed up against it while Taeyong found every bare inch of his body to kiss. It was wrong--so wrong, because Jaehyun was still in there, comforting Taeil as he cried to everyone about losing Sicheng, about messing up so bad, about wanting him and needing him and trying to get him back. It was so wrong--so wrong, because Taeyong wasn't being the friend that he should have been. He wasn't being a friend at all. He was too focused on Dongyoung.

"Kiss me. Love me. I missed you." Dongyoung said. He pulled Taeyong in, taking the initiative to kiss him. Taeyong gasped at the sudden pull, his lips landing on Dongyoung's roughly. Dongyoung didn't seem to mind; Taeyong surely didn't. The pain of kissing someone with too many teeth involved was something Taeyong often craved. Mixing pain and sex was almost a necessity for Taeyong, anymore.

"I love you." Dongyoung muttered, and he giggled. Taeyong's heart fluttered again, but it soon settled--returned to its spot in his chest because he realized something. He always thought he would be too foolish to catch onto a lie when he was in love, but he supposed he had had his heart broken one too many times to miss something like this.

"You're drunk." Taeyong muttered softly. It hurt to say, and it hurt to think. _Dongyoung only loves me because he's drunk_. The thought made a tear pull at his eye, a quiver at his lip. It made his fingers weak and his heart fall. _Dongyoung only loves me because he's drunk_. Taeyong wondered what it was about him that made the conscious mind find him unworthy of love.

"So? Can't I love you when I'm drunk?" Even intoxicated, Dongyoung could connect some dots--which Taeyong found particularly amazing. He had small thoughts of when _he_ was drunk. He could hardly form a sentence, much less a coherent thought. Still, Dongyoung didn't entirely realize what he was doing to Taeyong-- that, or he didn't care, for he pulled Taeyong in by the collar of his shirt and kissed him hard, licking roughly into his mouth as if the taste of him, or the feel of him would soon bring Taeyong to intoxication, too.

Taeyong thought about pushing him away. He thought about running away and leaving Dongyoung to find a way back to his wife. He thought about never coming back--at least, not until Dongyoung was sober again. But he also thought he couldn't do it. He couldn't run away from Dongyoung. He cared too much. He loved him too much. He was too selfish, and he was too selfless. He couldn't leave Dongyoung alone, because they would both get hurt. (For Dongyoung, it would only been tonight. For Taeyong, it would be forever--another scar to add to his shattered heart that came as a side-effect of trying to piece it back together.)

"Come," Taeyong said, leading Dongyoung to his own car. Dongyoung stumbled a bit. Taeyong wondered how he didn't notice Dongyoung was drunk an hour ago. He spoke so well--about how he felt, being with his wife--about how Taeil could earn Sicheng's love back. How was he so good at faking like he was sober? Why didn't he do it for Taeyong? (Taeyong wondered if that would hurt more; would it hurt more if Dongyoung pretended like he loved him?)

"Hurry," Dongyoung muttered, pulling Taeyong into the backseat of the car as soon as it was open. Taeyong barely had enough time to close the door behind him before Dongyoung was sharply pulling him-- dragging him over his body. He kissed Taeyong-- needy and heated. He parted his legs and pulled Taeyong's hips between them. He was almost moving too fast, but Taeyong knew he could keep up--if he could only get his mind off of Dongyoung loving him.

"Tell me you love me." Taeyong muttered, deciding the only way he could focus would be if he stopped _thinking_ , and gave a sexual connotation to Dongyoung's words. Dongyoung laughed a little bit-- heated and sexy, "I love you."

Taeyong started for his clothes, pulling them all of. He marked up his skin in the heat of the moment, and decided, if Dongyoung cared, he could just get drunk again.

"Tell me you love me." Taeyong said again-- kissing Dongyoung before he _could_  say anything. Dongyoung muttered it anyway, "I love you--" heated and passionate into the kiss. Taeyong had never cried before, having sex with someone; but he cried now, loving Dongyoung while Dongyoung only loved him for sex.

Taeyong stayed with Dongyoung until he woke up. He sat in the backseat of Dongyoung's car and crossed his legs, making a crook in his lap for Dongyoung's head to rest in. Dongyoung woke up disoriented but dressed; he looked at Taeyong, confused. He saw the marks on his neck but said nothing about them; he ruffled his hair and wondered, "What happened?" and Taeyong said, "You were with me," and Dongyoung nodded. He lay against Taeyong's lap again, and closed his eyes. He had turned onto his side, and his arm was resting over Taeyong's calves. Taeyong played with the dark strands of his hair, as he had been all night long. Dongyoung wondered, "Have you been up all night?" and Taeyong answered, "Yes."

"Here." Dongyoung said, leaning forward some to reach under the passenger seat of his car. He pulled out a bottle-- half full of whiskey. He handed it to Taeyong, "This will help you sleep--sleep with me."

Taeyong hadn't had a drink in years, but he made an odd exception for Dongyoung.

 

 

 

 

  
**it's natural that *'m scared of a dangerous person like you**

"What happened?" Taeyong slurred, roughly taking Dongyoung by the jaw and tilting his head up to peer at his red cheek. Taeyong didn't mean to be so rough, but he had absolutely no coordination when he was drunk--and Dongyoung had been feeding whiskey through his lip for over an hour.

"My wife saw these." Dongyoung said, tracing the bruises along his neck. He laughed a little bit. He wasn't drunk. He didn't want to be drunk. He was trying to rid himself of the rest of his alcohol by feeding it to Taeyong. One more bottle--just one more bottle.

"She hit me." Dongyoung muttered. He traced the lip of his bottle and considered taking a drink, but he knew the mistakes he made when he was drunk. He let Taeyong mark him up. Why Taeyong would do it in the first place, Dongyoung had no idea. He was almost angry, but how could he be? He was cheating on his wife; he deserved it.

"You shouldn't let her do that." Taeyong muttered. _Let her_. Dongyoung wanted to scoff. _I didn't let her_ , but he didn't say it. Instead, he pressed the bottle back to Taeyong's lips and fed him some more. _Just a little more, just a little bit_.

"I think she might tell my dad." Dongyoung said. He laughed a bitter laugh, "He'll have my head, if he finds out I cheated."

"I think he'll cut me up. Throw me to the wolves." Taeyong laughed, tipping over into Dongyoung's lap-- crashing into his thighs. He tucked his hands around one, and held it to his cheek as he laughed, and laughed. His laugh wasn't gentle, like Dongyoung expected. Taeyong wasn't a gentle drunk at all. Dongyoung almost assumed he would fall asleep at the taste of too much alcohol, but who was he kidding? Taeyong had been an addict--of course he wouldn't knock out easily.

"I feel guilty." Dongyoung said. Taeyong looked at him, a laugh on his lips, "Guilty? Don't feel guilty for her."

"I don't." Dongyoung said. Taeyong looked at him, a frown on his face. Dongyoung admitted his guilt, "I'm guilty for you."

"Me?" Taeyong asked, incredulous. His eyebrow was tilted up. When he sat up, Dongyoung almost felt scared of him. He had a dark expression, and Dongyoung almost thought he shouldn't say what he wanted to say next, but he couldn't lie to Taeyong-- "Yes, you, because I told you that I loved you, and I lead you on like this, but I don't love you. I can't love you. I have a wife and I have to keep to her."

"You don't." Taeyong said. He roughly grabbed for Dongyoung's jaw again, letting his hand slip a moment later and Dongyoung's noise of discomfort, "You're an adult, Dongyoung. You can leave her whenever you want. Screw your dad. Screw his money. We could figure it out together. I've managed to keep up with myself--I'll have even more incentive with you, baby."

 _Baby_.

"I don't love you anyway." Dongyoung muttered. He wondered why his voice had gotten so quiet. He wondered if he was lying to himself. Did he love Taeyong? No. He didn't. He couldn't. He had a wife, _his_  baby. He couldn't afford to go off being someone else's baby.

"Only when you're drunk." Taeyong said. He tapped on Dongyoung's wrist--the one connected to the hand with his bottle of whiskey in it, "Drink up."

Dongyoung didn't want to, but he did. He _wanted_  to love Taeyong, after all.

 

 

 

 

  
**maybe -- * might fall deeper into you**

Dongyoung thought he should have some negative feelings for Taeyong-- _something_ , at least, aimed in his direction. There should be some form of guilt burrowed in his heart; and there was, but it wasn't directed toward his wife, where the guilt really should be pointing. It was for Taeyong; it was a negative feeling with positive intentions because he didn't want to hurt Taeyong-- he didn't give a damn about his wife. There should be something truly negative for Taeyong, he thought. If there was no guilt for his wife, he should at least feel anger, hatred for Taeyong. He should be in denial, if not in guilt-- _This isn't my fault. He seduced me. I'm not cheating on my wife without reason; it's all Taeyong's fault_.

But he didn't hate Lee Taeyong.

He didn't love Lee Taeyong either-- he wouldn't fool himself into thinking that he did; and he knew he wasn't fooling himself into thinking that he didn't. He simply didn't; and that's where the guilt in his heart came from. It came, specifically, when Taeyong confessed his love for the first time. Dongyoung couldn't love Taeyong-- not like this, and it would be _like this_ forever. He had a wife and he had to keep her; there was no question about it. His parents had given her to him and he was chained, now; by finger and by heart. As much as they didn't love each other, his heart still belonged to her. She took it; it was handed to her to keep, and he couldn't get it back. He couldn't let Taeyong try to steal it. It was guarded by his wife's skinny fingers, and Dongyoung didn't want to see them break.

So, he felt guilty, because he couldn't love Taeyong in the same ways. He thought maybe he shouldn't feel guilty; he shouldn't care this much about Taeyong, a man he was only having sex with. But there was _something_  for Taeyong in his chest. It wasn't his heart, and it wasn't his love, but it was something. Whatever it was, it was enough for Taeyong. And maybe he knew what it was, and maybe that was why it was good enough for him. Maybe saw the meaning behind Dongyoung's mentions of "I love this and this about you-- but I don't love you;" because it was enough for him.

As much as he wished he didn't, Dongyoung thought he deserved more.

Part of him wished Taeyong would abandon him. He wished Taeyong would break it off, because Dongyoung's newfound submissive nature-- for Taeyong and Taeyong only-- wasn't strong enough to do so. He hoped, one day soon, someone would come along and Taeyong would fall in love with them. He hoped Taeyong would leave him behind, tell him, "I'm sorry, Doyoung, but I found someone else," and Dongyoung would be happy for him. His heart wouldn't break, because his wife was holding it together. He wouldn't cry, because he didn't love Taeyong anyway. He would just be happy-- a bit empty, maybe, without Taeyong burying himself inside of Dongyoung every night; but that was okay. That was okay, because Taeyong would be loved and that's all he really wanted, wasn't it?

Hell, _someone_  needed to love that man.

In the meantime, Dongyoung was good enough. _Good enough_  wasn't exactly good but, for Taeyong, it was enough. His kisses, his obedience, his breath, the word "love" that spilled from his mouth. He gave his all to Taeyong-- every night that he could, every night that he wanted. His body was Taeyong's; that much, he could give away. His wife had never had his body-- seen no more than him shirtless after coming out of the shower. She had no interest in his body (and barely any in his mind); he had no interest in hers (and barely any in her mind). But Taeyong was a different story. Taeyong would always be a different story.

Taeyong was gorgeous; up and down, left and right. His face was one that interested Dongyoung right away-- even before the whole offer of a chance to be submissive. Taeyong looked cold, but the peek of his eyes when he looked at his best friend on that first night of "Jaehyung's Therapy Group" was alluringly innocent and pretty. His face was handsome, but his expressions were cute. His white hair was a black-rooted mess, but it fit his face in some way; and when he pushed it back to trap it under a cap, it was breathtakingly beautiful, breathtakingly sexy. Dongyoung had never seen a more beautiful thing than Taeyong brushing his sweaty hair back after fucking Dongyoung through, and pushing a backwards cap over the messy mop of white.

His lips that captured Dongyoung's; his body that touched Dongyoung's; his rough taste and his rough smell; his soft smile and his soft mind; Lee Taeyong was beautiful, and Dongyoung would be lucky if he could love him. He would be lucky if Taeyong could be his-- and perhaps he already was. Perhaps he wanted to be. Perhaps Dongyoung could have him if he so pleased; and perhaps that's exactly what Taeyong wanted. But Dongyoung couldn't be gentle with a heart. He was having a difficult time even holding onto the heart of his wife; how could he make room in his slippery hands for another?

(He couldn't. And so he refused to try.)

 

 

 

**\- + -**

 

 

 

*** have no patience; *'m gonna bother you until the day is over**

"Come on, _drink_. If you can only love me when you drink, you better start quick." Taeyong said. He was already without his shirt; he was smoking a cigarette and patiently waiting for Dongyoung to get drunk. Dongyoung cried as he drank; he cried because he wondered how he'd gotten to the point; he cried because he wondered why he couldn't just love Taeyong; he cried because he hated that Taeyong could be nothing but drunk around him anymore; he cried because he could be nothing but drunk around Taeyong anymore. Taeyong cried, too. They didn't notice each other's tears.

 

**come closer; show me your fantasy; *'ll treat you right**

"Come. Come on, baby, come." Taeyong said, gently coaxing Dongyoung to him. He seemed so gentle when Dongyoung was drunk. Dongyoung seemed so loving when Taeyong was drunk. Dongyoung gently settled onto Taeyong's lap, and gently kissed him all over-- forehead and cheeks, jaw and lips, neck and nose. Taeyong was bathed in his kisses; and for a minute, he felt like he was bathed in love.

 

**you should be afraid of me; that's what * want**

"I'll make you love me." Taeyong muttered into Dongyoung's bare shoulder, teeth bared as he nibbled on the skin, trying to form any bruise he could against Dongyoung's skin. Dongyoung whimpered--a shy and pretty whimper that fluttered Taeyong's heart, and heated his stomach. He pulled Dongyoung closer, whispered-- "I'll make you love me. Tell me you love me."

 

*** want you to hit me, kick me, ruin me**

"It'll hurt. It'll hurt because I know you don't love me." Taeyong said. He wrapped his fingers around Dongyoung's bicep and squeezed-- "Come on. I want you to hurt me. Bruise me. Break me. _Ruin_  me. Tell me you love me."

 

***'ll give you the role of a picture; *'m freaking honest**

"Tell me. Tell me before I leave. Tell me before you're just a memory to me. Tell me. I'll run. I'll run away--can you handle that? Can you live without me anymore?" Taeyong nibbled Dongyoung's lips, "Your wife doesn't even love you. I'm all you've got."

 

**my body is reacting; *'m not satisfied yet**

"I love you!" Dongyoung cried. He was quivering--at the emotion of the words, at the excitement of his own body. Taeyong was stripping him of clothes, stripping him of his walls; he felt so exposed, but he felt _pretty_ \-- with Taeyong's arms and Taeyong's love encircling him. It was a new feeling-- completely new. He knew the heat was given to him by the alcohol, but he didn't care. He loved it. He loved Taeyong-- "I love you!"

"Tell me again." Taeyong muttered, kissing down Dongyoung's stomach, "Tell me _again_."

 

*** wanna play with your heartbeat; I hope you know -- heartbeat; fade away until * can't hear it anymore**

"I want more." Dongyoung muttered, his chest rising and falling heavily. Taeyong closed his eyes against Dongyoung's heartbeat-- listening to it instead of his needy words. He just listened, and listened to the heart beating in his chest. Beat... beat... beat.... Love... love... love. Taeyong listened until the heartbeat faded away-- until its silent beat of love was overcome by Dongyoung's needy "I love you, I love you," and Taeyong left his chest to kiss his lips, and pull Dongyoung to him all over again.

 

**cosplay snow white -- * like it; *'ll be your hobbit**

Dongyoung's skin had paled at his exhaustion. His hair was matted to his forehead, black by the darkness of the room. Taeyong brushed his hair away. Dongyoung almost looked dead, by the way his eyes were closed, his lips parted; except he was breathing heavy, and his chest was rising, and he blinked his eyes open a few seconds later. He smiled at Taeyong. Taeyong fell to him.

 

**be meaner to me; * feel it, babe**

"Tell me again. Tell me you love me. Tell me. Tell me." Taeyong said-- needy and whiny and tracing Dongyoung's heartbeat. His head was against Dongyoung's shoulder; his cheek was against Dongyoung's bicep. He traced Dongyoung's heartbeat, "Hurt me. I want you to. Be mean to me--tell me you love me."

 

*** love it.... _too_ ; *'ll throw it, you catch -- beach volleyball**

From couch to bed-- no difference, except more room. Dongyoung filled Taeyong's sheets with love, tossing and turning and loving Taeyong every which way. Taeyong kissed every inch of his body, reaching his back now, with the additional amount of room they had. Taeyong could turn Dongyoung onto his side, his stomach, his other side. They could roll among the sheets and kiss each other, love each other-- however they wanted, however they desired--and they desired a _lot_  in the midst of intoxication.

 

**we're gonna do it -- going so high**

"Come on. Come on-- again. Again, baby," Taeyong panted. His lips were so close to Dongyoung's, and yet they weren't kissing. Dongyoung whimpered, wanting to tilt his chin up but finding he couldn't focus on anything except for the pleasure between his legs-- the steady rhythm of Taeyong's hips and the more sporadic movement of his hand. Dongyoung clamped his fingers around Taeyong's biceps, and told Taeyong "I love you" when Taeyong told him to say it.

 

**we'll play all night; put away your exhaustion**

"Are you tired?" Taeyong asked softly, stroking Dongyoung's neck. He was sweaty; hell, he was soaked, but Taeyong didn't have a care in the world about that. He still kissed Dongyoung all over. He still ran his fingers over Dongyoung's skin like he was the most gentle person in the world, like he wasn't soaked in filth. Dongyoung shook his head; he wasn't tired. He would never be tired. Taeyong smiled at him, "Good."

 

*** showed myself to you -- so show yourself to me, too**

"Tell me." Dongyoung muttered the last time Taeyong would hover over him for a moment more. Taeyong kissed him, and said "I love you," and Dongyoung said, "Not that. Tell me--tell me why you're hurt. You know about my wife. I know about that girl, but... who broke _your_  heart?"

Taeyong laughed a little bit, and kissed Dongyoung again, "You did."

 

*** want you to hug me**

Taeyong dozed in and out of sleep with his head lazily leaning against Dongyoung's chest. Every time he woke up, Dongyoung's hand was in a new place-- on his shoulder, in his hair, not touching him at all, tucked beneath his ear. Taeyong wished Dongyoung would hold him. He wished he would keep awake long enough to tell Dongyoung to hold him--but he had exhausted himself far too much against Dongyoung's body tonight.  
**what do * do about this--? *'m only needy because of you**

 

 

 

**\- + -**

 

 

 

*** don't know why *'m being like this; why do * want to do bad things?**

Dongyoung was exhausted. A night of being drunk and loving Taeyong was more than enough to wear his body out; and, yet, he couldn't sleep. He lay awake staring at Taeyong's ceiling and wondering-- how _did_  he end up here? Here, in Taeyong's apartment, finishing off the last of the whiskey he promised himself not to drink? Pretending to love Taeyong? Pretending _not_  to love Taeyong? He wasn't sure of himself anymore.

Dongyoung rubbed his eyes. He was sober. He knew he was sober; hours of loving Taeyong was more than enough so sober him up. _Loving Taeyong_ \-- he was sober and he was still thinking it. He must have been crazy. He must have been a madman. He _loved_  Taeyong. He was in love with Lee Taeyong, and he had a wife at home. Lee Taeyong was drunk in his arms, fast asleep against his body, and he was in love with him; and he should be at home, with his wife in his arms, cradling her until morning came and he kissed her goodbye as she went to work. They should be waking up from a long night like the one Taeyong and Dongyoung had had--except they should have been far more gentle, and loving, and less drunk, and working for a baby.

Dongyoung's mother and father wanted him to have a _baby_.

Dongyoung suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. He thought about that life with his wife and how badly he _didn't_  want that. He thought about the right here, the right now-- the rough nights with Taeyong in which they were both drunk and spewing insecurities at each other. He thought about the things Taeyong said to him. He thought about how angry he should be, but how angry he wasn't--because he knew exactly where it was coming from. He knew Taeyong didn't mean it, even though he said it like he did. He knew Taeyong was sorry, even though he hadn't apologized yet. He knew he would. He knew Taeyong was just throwing his own insecurities onto Dongyoung, because Dongyoung was the source of his pain. Dongyoung deserved it. Taeyong would tell him he didn't, but he did.

And Dongyoung cried, because he understood Taeyong _so much_. He understood Taeyong _perfectly_ , and he loved Taeyong more than anything, more than the world itself, the galaxy itself. He loved Taeyong more than he loved books. He loved Taeyong more than he loved birds of paradise. He loved Taeyong.

He _loved_  Taeyong.

 

 

 

**\- + -**

 

 

 

**my baby don't like it when you come around, [so] it's natural that *'m scared of a dangerous person like you**

Dongyoung kicked his feet against the counter and tapped his fingers against the floor. He was in an odd position, and he was much too comfortable, now-- as if he was actually in a therapy group, laying on a couch, not the back of a closed down coffee shop, laying on the floor. But this was better than any other position; he rather lay like this than have to sit up and look at anyone, especially with the next words he let spill, "I cheated on my wife."

No one seemed shocked at Dongyoung's words except for Taeyong, who looked between the others in the group, wondering if anyone would look to him as the guilty one. No one did. Rather, they kept their eyes trained on Dongyoung. Sicheng even gasped at the words, leaning father into Taeil. He was holding onto his arm; he had his fingers curled around his elbow. Taeyong wondered how they could mend themselves after such a rough point in their relationship. If he had been a good friend, Taeil might have given him some advice. He may have learned something just by observation--if only he'd been a good friend.

"I love that person." Dongyoung said, playing with his fingers, now. He held them to his chest and tapped against his heart. Beat... beat... beat.... Love... love... love. It was fading; his heartbeat was fading. He could barely breathe.

"I really, _really_  want to be with that person." Dongyoung said, and he laughed a little bit, "But he's going to ruin my life."

Taeyong's shoulders fell. The headache he had from drinking too much didn't compare to the heartache he had; and suddenly, he didn't feel as though he couldn't talk. He didn't feel as though he would hurt his head more by speaking, because his heart was covering up his head's pain-- "Why?"

Everyone looked to him. Maybe they could see the hurt. Maybe he was crying. Maybe they all knew, now. Maybe they connected the dots. Taeyong didn't care. He didn't look, and he didn't care. He trained his eyes on Dongyoung. Dongyoung tilted his head back, and smiled a bitter smile.

"Because my baby _is_  my life, and I can't let him ruin that."

  
**~~maybe -- * might fall deeper into you~~ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was like 15k words why am I so extra,,,


	16. Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _morning star_  
>  One struggle most authors share is capturing the beauty of their muse through words.  
> [au]: a poet and his muse  
> ♡ winwin and doyoung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If doyoung actually wrote poetry, I can guarantee it would be 800x better than the free verse _crap_ I set him up to write.

**morning star.**

**[** Dongyoung laughed a bit at the irony of his title-- the fact that it was on top, above the photograph of his angel, above the contents of his poem. The title, in this case, was the last thing he thought of, but the first thing people saw. Dongyoung thought about how ambiguous the author's stream of conscious was in a poem, or a novel, even an article. No one knew where the author started, continued, paused, revised, and ended-- so no one knew the personal parts, or the more important parts.

Dongyoung supposed, though, that that was the beauty of the work. **]**

For the introduction and inspiration of this piece, I'm going to steal a small phrase that everyone uses:  _A picture is worth a thousand words_.  Just above this small prologue, I have a simple picture of who I believe is the most beautiful person in the world. His name is Dong Sicheng, though I refer to him as my baby, or my angel-- depending upon how romantic I feel, or how much of my affection he can handle. This picture, like any, is worth a thousand words; I'm going to find the words.

 

I saw an angel;  
I photographed him this very night.  
I missed him as I worked;  
I loved him as I wrote.

My angel is my everything.

My angel is my muse.  
My angel is the beauty  
\--of butterfly poetry  
\--of _Cacophony Waters_  
\--of waking up every morning  
\--of resting in the evening.

My angel is my fiance.  
My angel has his ring  
tucked beneath his neck  
as he sleeps on a bed  
soon to be ours--  
the day after we wed.

My angel is my anchor.  
My angel has a soaked sleeve  
somewhere near his shoulder,  
soaked in my insecurity,  
my struggle to get this very book  
into your hand, reader.

My angel is my canvas.  
My angel has pretty pink  
dusted upon his cheeks  
and painted over his lips,  
highlighted onto his cheeks  
and kissed upon his neck.

My angel is my exception.  
My angel loved me at first sight.  
(I don't believe in that--  
\--love at first sight--  
\--but I believe in him.)

My angel is my only exception.  
My angel wondered at me,  
"You really thought you would  
_never_  fall in love?"  
(He did not believe me,  
at first,  
but he loved me,  
at first,  
and belief came next.)

My angel is my rhythm.  
My angel is one of grace,  
of ballet toes and piano fingers,  
of beautiful melodies,  
and an ear for my voice.

My angel is my motivator,  
when my mind goes blank,  
and I cannot think to write,  
he tells me  
"You have such a beautiful mind,"  
or he smiles for my phone,  
and inspires a thousand more words.

My angel is my outlet.  
My angel handles me well  
\--my frustration  
\--my tears  
\--my anger  
\--my insecurity  
\--my sorrow  
\--my drowning  
\--my _emotion_.

My angel is my reciprocate.  
My angel is easy to handle  
\--his frustration  
\--his tears  
\--his anger  
\--his insecurity  
\--his sorrow  
\--his drowning  
\--his _emotion_.

"Kim Dongyoung, you're a star in my eyes. Every morning, I wake up next to a star-- you're my morning star."

I am a star to my angel;  
my angel is a star to me.

My angel is worth more than a thousand words.  
My angel is worth _everything_  and more.  
My angel is worth more than I can give to him.  
In fact, I am finding it difficult to give him even a thousand words.  
I cannot express his beauty in phrases and rhymes  
\--(clearly I cannot do it with rhythm)  
\--rather, I express it in action and whispers  
\--kisses in the morning and affection late at night.

My angel knows that I love him,  
and I know that my angel loves me.  
I hope that my angel knows I will love him forever,  
and I hope that my angel feels the same for me.

My Dearest Sicheng,  
(My Dearest Angel),  
I hope you will forgive me  
for keeping this poem short  
despite your motivation  
for me to _just keep going_.

I love you, darling.  
Words just can't compete with you.

 

 **[** "You didn't write a thousand words?" Sicheng asked, tilting his head up to look at Dongyoung. He had a spark of sad, almost disappointed emotion in his eyes, to which Dongyoung smiled--smiled because he knew it would go away, smiled because he stroked through Sicheng's bangs and told him "Keep reading, baby," and Sicheng only pouted at him for a moment more before turning his attention back to the book. **]**

 

I imagine,  
as my angel is sleeping,  
what is going through his pretty head.

 

 **[** "Is this a new poem, hyung?"

"No, baby, it's the same one. Keep reading." **]**

 

I wonder if he dreams of me,  
the way I dream of him.  
I wonder if he dreams at all,  
for his features are so relaxed.

I wonder if I can help him  
when he whimpers in his sleep.  
I wonder if I can share with him  
the laughter he expresses in dreams.

I wonder if he's looking for me  
as he tosses and turns.  
We often lose each other in the night,  
through habit of moving in our dreams.

I wonder if he shivers because he misses my warmth,  
or if he misses the warmth of the blankets I steal.

I wonder if he knows he's holding me  
when his grip tightens upon my shirt.  
I wonder if he's calmed by my heartbeat  
when he lays his ear against my chest.  
I wonder if he's calmed at my breath  
that wisps around his neck.

I wonder if he feels me kiss him in the middle of the night  
\--on his ears  
\--on his cheek  
\--on his forehead  
\--on his nose  
\--on his shoulder  
\--on his lips  
\--whatever is closest  
\--whatever is least likely  
to wake him from his peaceful sleep.

I wonder how he takes to my odd habits  
that only appear when I am asleep.  
I wonder if he notices when I get up  
and walk away from bed.  
He gropes at the sheets,  
and whimpers in his sleep--  
perhaps he does know  
that sleep makes me walk.

I wonder if he wakes at the sound of my voice,  
when I mumble incoherently in my dreams.  
He has not mentioned it,  
the way my past friends have.  
Perhaps he is used to the sound of my voice.  
Perhaps,  
he is even comforted by the way I talk.

I wonder how he holds himself when I am gone.  
I know I keep a pillow tucked against me  
when I don't have him to hold.  
I wonder if he tucks a blanket around his shoulders,  
and another around his hips,  
to emulate the warmth of my arms and my legs.  
I wonder how heavy the difference is, to him.  
I know it's the weight of the world to me.

I wonder what he thinks of this poem.  
I wonder if he finds it  
\--flattering  
\--odd  
\--affectionate  
\--cheesy  
but I do not want him to tell me.

 

 **[** "You don't want to know how I feel about your poem, hyung?"

"Keep reading, baby." **]**

 

I know I will sit with him  
as he reads through my poetry.  
I'll watch his expressions  
as he reads this poem.  
I'll watch how he reacts,  
and I'll read him  
the way he reads my poetry.  
I'll capture every twitch of emotion  
the way he'll capture every word of my affection.  
I will know exactly how he feels,  
because I know exactly how to read him.

Angel,  
I cannot capture your beauty in words,  
nor can I capture the intricacy of your mind;  
but I can combine the two,  
and use my imagination to keep going,  
just like you told me to.

 

 **[** "Hyung, that was beautiful." Sicheng said. He turned the poem over and bookmarked the page across his thigh, careful not to let the book fall from his leg as he moved closer to Dongyoung-- close enough to kiss him, and hug him, and spill his emotion into laughter-- "I can't believe you think so highly of me."

"Of course I do, Sicheng, I'm in love with you." Dongyoung laughed. He took Sicheng's hand and brought it to his mouth, lips meeting metal as he kissed the ring on Sicheng's third finger. Sicheng captured his lips again as Dongyoung's lips found air--and Dongyoung gave up breathing to kiss his angel for a moment. Sicheng hugged him again-- with one arm as he continued to hold Dongyoung's hand.

"I do love you as much, you know... even though I don't say so." Sicheng said. Dongyoung rubbed his back-- rubbed his thumb over the back of Sicheng's hand-- "I know. Trust me, angel, I know." **]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at poetry I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea.


	17. Chewing Gum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _chewing gum (strawberry and mint)_  
>  Mark grew up before Jaemin, but Jaemin seemed to grow up faster.  
> [au]: coming of age/child prodigies  
> ♡ jaemin and mark

Being a child prodigy came with rules, like no electronics after 10:00--in the summer; it was 7:00 in the winter (because if you want to keep your wits about you, you can't expose yourself to artificial light after it gets dark), no leaving campus-- _ever_  (because welcome to your new home, boys!), and no chewing gum (it drives grandma crazy, and you'll rot your teeth with that stuff--yes, even if it is sugar free--no, you can't have any other candy you're _going to rot your teeth_ ).

 _Grandma's Home for Special Boys_ only pushed these three rules. There were other rules-- like only wearing the uniform and provided pajamas during the weekdays, but on the weekends, that rule went away, and the seven boys that stayed in Grandma's home could wear whatever they pleased. That meant a whole lot of mismatched clothes and Grandma grimacing over the offending colors but smiling at the boy's faces, telling them "You look so good!" with quite possibly the fakest voice Mark, the eldest of the bunch, had ever heard in his life. Renjun and Chenle were the only two who really fell for it, and they looked way too happy with Grandma's compliments for anyone to break their spirits.

Another rule only affected Mark, as he was the only boy of seven that wore glasses. The rule was: no contacts. He _had_  to wear his glasses. Mark didn't mind the rule much; he hadn't even known what contacts were when he was enrolled in _Grandma's Home for Special Boys_. He was only eight at the time, two years with deteriorated eyesight and confused when Grandma told him "You had better wear those glasses for the rest of your life, child--if I ever see you with contacts--" and she made a frustrated noise as she rolled her eyes, half-hidden behind her own thin frames.

"Contacts, Grandma?" Mark asked, his little fingers crossed together over her desk. He was hardly tall enough to poke his head over; he leaned up on his toes and blinked up at Grandma and wondered. She looked down at him, her eyes narrowed, but her voice soft, "They're bad for you, child-- little things that aren't meant to be in your eyes! No contacts, hear me?"

Mark wasn't sure why Grandma told him that; he wouldn't be able to get his hands on a pair of contacts, anyway. Grandma arranged all their dentist and doctor appointments, had the dentists and the doctors come to _her_ , somehow. How on earth would Mark get contacts when she controlled everything?

Mark had some bitter feelings toward Grandma, but he could never be angry at her or her rules. He couldn't be angry at The Eagle, Grandma's son, either-- though he wasn't Mark's favorite person, either. Mark had even more of a reason to dislike The Eagle. He perfectly matched the name the boys had given him; he oversaw the boys and made sure he followed each rule. He was always around; he saw every little mishap and flew right to the source of the rule-breaking. He would smack their hands with rulers should they break a rule more than three times, but he was often quite lenient, too, which prevented him from receiving Mark's hate. None of them had been smacked yet-- none except for Donghyuck, who got in big, big trouble after playing ball and breaking the television. Still, a smack on the hand and two hours in a room alone was as far as the punishment went; Mark really couldn't hate the place _too much_.

However, there was that one rule that bugged Mark to no end: no chewing gum. Mark had never had a taste of candy in his life, so he didn't mind it at first, but all of a sudden Jaemin was back from a vacation his parents had taken him on-- a visit to the space station-- and he had a blue and pink suitcase _full_  of candy, and he carefully distributed one piece ("just for now while I find a place to hide it") to each of them, and they ate together. Mark was the most shocked, because he was the only one who had never had candy before. (Jaemin was shocked at this-- "You've _never_  had candy?" and Mark could hardly reply, because he had a strawberry piece on his tongue but he shook his head and swallowed his suddenly strawberry saliva and found he _really_  liked the taste of artificial strawberry.)

Mark felt a type of rush in disobeying one of Grandma's rules. It was a kind of rush he'd never felt before. When he talked to Jaemin about it later-- laying awake, unable to sleep, Jaemin told him it was the sugar. Mark asked why, then, the two of them were the only ones still awake while the others were still asleep.

"Well, hyung, it's because _you_  have never had sugar before."

"Why are _you_  awake, though? You clearly have." Mark said. Jaemin was silent. Mark stared at the bottom of the top bunk for a long time before slipping out of bed, standing next to the bunk to see if Jaemin had fallen asleep. He hadn't, and Mark climbed up to the top bunk to sit with him, "What's wrong?"

Jaemin was never silent unless it was serious.

"I was just thinking." Jaemin muttered. That was almost never good; Mark asked, "What about?" but Jaemin didn't reply. Rather, he didn't reply _right away_. It took him a moment, but he expressed his concerns quickly enough, "Do you think we'll grow out of this stuff? This knowledge stuff? Like-- there are scientists who know more about space than I do and college professors who write better than you. Do you think we'll just grow into our knowledge? Are you worried that we're going to be really, really average adults?"

Mark was quiet for some time, piecing together Jaemin's thoughts. Even after thinking for an extended amount of time, all he could come up with was that "I'm more worried about why you're thinking about this stuff at three in the morning."

Jaemin laughed a little bit-- a sound of relief to Mark, who thought Jaemin might seriously be having a puberty crisis that he might not escape from for a while. (Mark remembered having thoughts like this, two years back, and they were scary; and he was alone, because he was the oldest and he was the only one going through it. He wasn't comfortable enough to talk to Grandma, or The Eagle-- not Renjun, or Jaemin, or anyone. He felt really, really alone.)

"Isn't that when we all have our deepest thoughts?" Jaemin asked. He had picked up Mark's hand to play with his fingers-- bending them at the top and bottom knuckle, accidentally cracking one. He flinched. Mark did not.

"Well..." Mark said while Jaemin put his hand down. Jaemin was right, Mark thought-- "Yeah, okay-- but I think we'll extend our knowledge."

"What if there's nothing else to learn?" Jaemin challenged-- in doubt of himself rather than Mark. Mark remembered asking himself that, and recited the answer he'd come to piece together, "There's always something more to learn."

"But--"

"More to learn and more room to grow." Mark interrupted, soothing a hand through Jaemin's hair. "We're never going to stop growing up; we're never going to stop learning, even if we are average. Don't worry."

Jaemin was silent for some moments again, and Mark was briefly reminded of the two weeks it took him to come to terms with himself, to stop worrying about being a child prodigy and let himself freely relax as he remembered that he was a child-going-on-teenager, and that he was supposed to change.

"This is why I love you, you know." Jaemin said. Mark felt his heart skip a little at the sound of _love_  coming from Jaemin's mouth, but he suppressed any external reaction that came with his spark of interest. _It's just a crush_ , Mark told himself. _It's just a crush_.

 

\- + -

 

Mark took a deep breath in as he faced his home. He wanted to rush inside, because it was awful cold outside; but he wanted to stay out, because there was something keeping him from stepping back inside. He allowed himself a moment to hesitate, the speed of his mind taking his focus from the numbing of his body. He stared up at the sign of his home.

 _Grandma's Home for Special Boys_  
\--which meant they all had a special talent of some sort. Mark let his mind wander. _Special talent_ \--

Park Jisung was a prodigy when it came to math--  
"Hey, Jisung, what's 964 times 384?"  
"370,176."  
"That was way too fast. Jeno! Calculator!"  
"Yes?"  
"Uh... nine-hundred... Jisung, what did I say?"  
"964 times 384."  
"Yeah, nine-hundred-- whatever Jisung just said."  
"370,176."  
"You said that, didn't you, Jisung?"  
"I did."  
"Damn."

\-- and Renjun, when it came to language--  
"Renjun, say _I love you_ in French."  
"Je t'aime."  
"Everyone knows that one, Donghyuck."  
"Fine. Say it in Mandarin."  
"That's his native language--!"  
\--but Donghyuck, a singer much too good for his age (also, a beautiful lyricist and poet), could never make him prove it.

 _Jeno_  was particularly good at it; Jeno, who was ludicrously good at sports--  
"Let's play, guys!"  
"Get that basketball out of my face _right now_ , we're playing cards."  
"Why?"  
"It's the only game anyone can beat you at!"  
"Jisung always wins."  
"Cards is pretty much just math--"  
"Let's just put together a damn puzzle, then--"  
\--and Jaemin, too, who knew the ins and outs of every discovered piece of the galaxy.

 _Grandma's Home for Special Boys... Grandma's Home... Grandma_.... Grandma liked Chenle-- he, with his knowledge over every instrument on earth, was Grandma's favorite. Grandma's favorite. _Grandma_. Grandma didn't like Mark too much; Mark may have been her least favorite, in fact. Mark didn't want to see Grandma, but when he started to run through all the boys in his mind, landing on Jaemin last this time, he thought dealing with Grandma's criticism may be worth seeing the boy he was so in love with.

Grandma asked him if he'd written anything, when he walked through the doors--home again. Mark nodded, and pulled out his notebook and let Grandma read it. Grandma kept her glasses on the end of her nose as she peered down at Mark's thoughts-- doodled onto the page while he was on the train. She nodded along to the rhythm of Mark's poetry, and she handed back the notebook, "Very good. Your writing is getting better by the day."

She was gone after that, and Mark was surprised she hadn't lectured him at all. With luck on his back, he wheeled his bags into his room-- in which he was immediately swarmed by Chenle and Jaemin, who missed him-- and then Donghyuck and Jeno, who also missed him, but not enough to barrel out of their begs to greet him-- and finally Jisung and Renjun, who were calmer about missing Mark, but still admitted to it.

"How was it, visiting home? Seeing your parents?" Chenle asked, leaning forward against his hands-- his eyes big and interested and patient as he waited for Mark to tell them. Mark explained everything he could-- the snow and the view, the love and the warm, warm dinners, the hugs and the kisses, the room all to himself and the kitchen free for snacking. They watched him with interested eyes, while Jaemin was silent in the corner, poking at his own fingers because he knew what it was like to be home. He'd been the only other one to go back home; and where Mark hadn't brought anything, Jaemin brought candy-- which they all had a piece of after Eagle came in and told them to go to sleep.

Similar to the night before Mark left on his three month trip back home, Mark lay awake, unable to sleep some hours after everyone else had fallen asleep, and Jaemin lay awake with him, mumbling about being scared of the future. Mark climbed up to his bunk again, and they sat together, holding hands but no longer speaking. Jaemin seemed to have laid all of his worried out for Mark to look at-- and Mark was astonished, not sure what else he could say.

"Do you want to do something with me, hyung?" Jaemin asked. Mark didn't hesitate before nodding-- not registering the danger in Jaemin's voice, the spark of adventure in his eye. Jaemin bit his bottom lip against a large smile, and he climbed down from the bunk-- urging Mark to follow him. The two of them tip-toed across the floor, all the way to their room's rear door. Jaemin, with a nervous hand around Mark's fingers, peeked outside first-- opening the door just enough for his head to peek out, and then creaking the door open a few inches more-- just enough for their bodies to slip through. Mark shut the door behind them; and there they were, two teens in a wide-open hallway.

"I've always wanted to see the place when it was dark." Jaemin whispered. His voice seemed so loud in the empty hallway. Mark finally registered the danger of the situation, but he didn't reject it. Rather he asked, "Why?"

"I don't know." Jaemin said. He looked both ways down the hall and took Mark's hand. He pressed a finger to his lips when Mark started to walk-- too loud-- and began to whisper when Mark quieted his steps, "I've been having these feelings lately, like-- like I want to know what the outside world feels like. It's always so quiet in here, and since we can't go out... we can at least see the hallway, right? When it's dark--a way we've never seen it before."

"Are you okay?" Mark asked, sensing a change in Jaemin. It wasn't a spectacularly large change; in fact, Mark didn't think he had anything to be worried about, really. There was just something-- something Jaemin was thinking but wasn't saying. And the more Mark thought about what Jaemin might be thinking about, the more he thought he might know. He pieced together a similar phrase to what Jaemin said next before Jaemin actually said it-- "I'm just... curious. I want to explore the world but we're so-- trapped."

"It's puberty. I think." Mark said. He and Jaemin stopped at the end of the hall. "Remember what The Eagle taught us about puberty? They said our bodies go through changes and our thoughts start developing more. Maybe we get curious about the world because we're going through it. The Eagle said it would go away."

"No, Mark, there's a world outside of these walls. I know there is. I can _see it_." Jaemin said. He leaned against the window, his hands flat against the glass. That was against the rules; under no circumstances were they to dirty the glass. Mark put his hands on the glass, too.

"Did your parents let you go outside when you were home?" Jaemin asked. Mark nodded. Jaemin couldn't see him, so he voiced his "Yes," and Jaemin turned his head, "Didn't you see it? All the people? There were so many people doing so many things. I went to an amusement park and I don't think I've ever felt more alive in my life."

"Amusement park?" Mark asked quietly. He didn't know what that was. Jaemin looked at him, and his smile turned a little sad, "See? Hyung-- we're so _confined_  in this little space. I mean, the home is big and it's wonderful but there's an entire _world_  outside of these walls that I just can't...."

"I know there is. I've read and analysed literature and-- there's a galaxy of countries and light years of travel to be done but--" Mark shrugged, "I guess I'm just not as curious about it."

"I love when you talk science with me. Makes me feel special," Jaemin admitted. Mark wondered why, because Jaemin was far more scientific than he was--hell, he knew the ins and outs of the galaxy. Maybe that was why. He was speaking Jaemin's language. Mark knew enough about love from literature to know that that was special.

"Would you call me crazy if I said I wanted to leave?" Jaemin asked, looking to Mark. Mark's heart fell at the thought, and it must have shown on his face, too, because Jaemin jumped to justify himself, "Not forever! Just-- from time-to-time, to travel, and explore. I want to know what the world is like. I know I'm only fifteen but I hate living in _one_ house, and never leaving."

"I know." Mark said. He didn't think Jaemin was crazy; he just thought Jaemin had a passion for seeing the world, a passion that he didn't share. He was fine inside, with books. Sometimes. Sometimes he was curious about everything else but he found curiosity made the heart hurt, and he'd read about too many cats falling victim to their curiosity that he just didn't like to mess with it much anymore.

"That's why I like candy so much." Jaemin said. "I didn't have much of a sweet tooth before I came here, but candy makes me feel like I have a taste of the real world."

"And it's sweet." Mark said. Jaemin nodded. He turned away from the glass, and began to pull Mark down the hall again-- quiet, and shushing Mark's careless foosteps. Mark didn't question Jaemin's sudden movements. He didn't wonder why they were returning to their room. It all made sense, anyway, when Jaemin went to the closet and dug out his suitcase; and Mark knew he could learn more by observing than by asking.

"Strawberry or mint?"

Mark liked strawberry, but Jaemin was holding out two pieces of gum and he'd put his suitcase away, and there was clearly one for him and one for Mark, and the pink of the strawberry seemed to match Jaemin so well, so he said, "Mint," and he took the green stick of gum and chewed it. It was an intense flavor, and it burst across his tongue. It tasted how winter felt-- cold and bitter, but sweet all the same.

Suddenly, the handle on their door was turning. Jaemin and Mark looked at each other as the flashlight of The Eagle shined into their room. Jaemin thought quicker and moved quicker than Mark; he took him by the hand and they scurried to the back door of their room. Jaemin creaked it open quickly and pulled Mark out, and shut it behind them. The flashlight had been heading in their direction when the door shut.

"Quick-- right or left?" Jaemin asked--a fatal mistake, really, to ask Mark to make a decision in a situation of panic. Mark didn't even know what to do. He was a prodigy with words-- written and spoken, literature and modern language, and he couldn't think of a single word to say right then-- even when the words were presented to him. All he had to say was _left or right_ , but Mark couldn't, so he quickly thrust his hand up, and pointed down the right side of the hall, and Jaemin pulled him there, and they ran, and they turned the corner right as The Eagle was opening the back door and shining his light out.

"We're screwed." Mark said, breathing heavy as he pressed his back to the wall. How could he have let this happen? he thought. Grandma always told him he was the oldest; he should take care of the others. If they did something wrong, he should stop them before authority came to slap them on the hand. He should guide them, and tell them the way and all that adult-like stuff that Mark _wasn't ready for_ , but had to do. He was supposed to be a role model here. Why wasn't he? Why did he let Jaemin and himself end up in this situation?

"No, we're not." Jaemin said calmly. He peeked down the hallway, and breathed out a bit, "Okay, he went the other way. He's... going around the corner. He's probably going to go back into the room."

Jaemin leaned back against the wall, and Mark let himself have a peek. Behind him, Jaemin asked, "How long until the eagle invades the nest?" and Mark had no idea what he was talking about for a minute, until The Eagle turned the corner and-- oh, yeah, eagle, next-- Eagle, their room-- Mark had to think, "Well, he's about ten feet away from the room--"

"I don't need an explanation!" Jaemin said impatiently. His hand was on Mark's back and he probably wanted to make a run for it so they could tuck themselves into bed or get closer to the kitchen and pretend they were getting water. He had _something_  planned that was time-based, and Mark couldn't help him at all-- but he _tried_ \-- "I can't emulate Jisung unless I talk out loud!"

Mark had no idea what he was talking about. Really, he was just spitting words at that point, because he knew they were, indeed, screwed-- "So, he's ten feet away from the room and it takes him like a year and a half for each step. _We_  can scurry our little feet like mad but we also have to take the back way _and_  be quiet when he sneak past Grandma's room, so if we want to get there in time--"

Mark rolled his eyes up in thought, and wanted to laugh a little because they were in _so much_ trouble but it was all funny, really-- "We have negative three seconds to do it."

"I hate you so much." Jaemin said, and then he gripped Mark's hand and pulled him into the middle of the hallway-- perfectly exposed should The Eagle venture out again. Then, they began to run-- well, scurry. Down the hall, a right where they should have taken a left to go back to their room. Jaemin led Mark down a new territory, and he pushed open a door Mark had never even seen before. He shoved Mark inside first and quickly followed, shutting the door quietly behind him. He didn't have enough room to turn around and shut the door-- instead had to step closer to Mark, who was already against the other wall. Their chests touched; his arms pressed into his back by the time the door clicked shut. He took half a step back-- barely that, and then he was against the door, and he laughed softly, "We made it."

"Where are we?" Mark whispered, suddenly conscious that his breath might smell. He wasn't sure why it would-- he still had a piece of mint gum in his mouth. It just felt a little too hot, and Jaemin's breath smelled a little too much like the strawberry gum he was eating. Mark knew he didn't smell as good.

"A secret place that I don't want you telling anyone about... and certainly not coming here with. I wouldn't recommend getting this close to anyone else." Jaemin said. Mark found his heart racing. Three years, and he'd never gotten over his crush on Jaemin.

"Only you?" Mark wondered quietly. He remembered what he'd told himself when Grandma told him to take care of the boys. He told himself to teach Jaemin, to help him through the world he wish he wanted to know so badly. He wished he wasn't so quiet and laid-back about their relationship; he wished he would be the one to take a step-- or half a step-- forward.

(Sitting on the top bunk, holding Jaemin's hand -- _Follow your heart. Make your dreams reality. Fulfill your own wishes. It's all cheesy, but it's all true, Jaemin_.)

"Jaemin." Mark said. Jaemin didn't say anything in response, but his breath was still there-- ghosting over Mark's cheeks, and Mark knew he was listening, "Remember all that cheesy stuff I told you, about how it is growing up? What you should do? Follow your heart, make--"

"--your dreams reality, fulfill your own wishes. It's all cheesy, but it's all true, Jaemin."

"Do you agree with me?" Mark asked, finding a smile tug at his lips at Jaemin's perfectly recited words. Jaemin nodded-- and Mark could only tell because his breath hitched a certain way as he bent his neck-- bobbing his chin up and down. Mark said, "Good," and he took that half a step forward.

Jaemin wasn't at all shocked; Mark could tell by the way his body relaxed, by the way he held Mark's cheeks. Mark held his waist in return. The two of them only kissed for a second; their mouths left each other with a small _pop!_  of affection.

"Strawberry and mint don't mix very well." Jaemin said. Mark laughed a little bit, "No. No, they don't."

"And we're so screwed when The Eagle finds us."

"Yes. Yes, we are."

"We should swallow our gum."

"Grandma's going to hate me."

"Swallow your gum, Mark."

"But I don't care. I have you."

"And everyone else. Swallow your gum."

"Jaemin, I think I love you."

The door opened, and Mark and Jaemin jumped-- away from each other, but to each other as well. The Eagle was standing there with a stern look on his face. The two of them smiled at him, scared and bashful. Jaemin whispered through his teeth, "I love you too, Mark. Swallow your gum."

Mark gulped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: all the chewing gum ficlets (there are literally like four because sm released chewing gum,, four times,, in two albums !! anYWAY) are going to be jaemin pairs because he was gone for two whole eras and I'm Not Having It


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